Invading Mongolia

This post begins not with Mongolia, but with a story about leaving China. To exit Pingyao, the aforementioned walled city, we opted to take a train to Beijing. The problem with this plan was that it was a government holiday and the trains were full. Our only option was to wait a day, take a train to a larger city nearby (Taiyuan), and purchase our tickets to Beijing from the black market. Not without some concern, we paid for these tickets well in advance--plus a hefty "finders fee." Upon arriving to Taiyuan in the late evening, we were supposed to meet a man outside the post office across the street from the train station to retrieve our tickets. No exaggeration--that was all of the information we were given. T insisted she come with me instead of waiting at the station with our bags, but I'm not sure if that made a difference.

Within a few moments of stopping at the post office and looking around confused, we attracted a small crowd. At first, it was just two or three curious bystanders. I searched in vain for the man among numerous men who were all looking at us strangely; it seems many people hang out at the post office front steps at this hour. In five minutes we were surrounded by a large crowd. Naively, I exited the circle of curious onlookers so I would draw less attention; we thought the "businessman" might be shy. Half the men stayed with T and half followed me up the steps. With two dense circles of spectators, we were drawing even more attention. Pedestrians on the street joined the growing swarm, pressing in to get a peek at what this roadside attraction might be. A man with a juggling monkey? Fresh, deep fried chicken (rumoured to be the best this side of Datong)? Nothing like that; to citizens of more remote regions of the countryside, our hairy, white skin and enormous backpacks generated sufficient interest to justify studying us for what free-time they had available. They were wondering what we were going to do next.

With forty men and fifty feet separating the two of us--and no train tickets in site--it seemed to be as bad as it could get. Then, the Buddhist monk entered my group. He descended to his knees and bowed and prayed at my feet. The circle made room for him without delay; this plot twist is what they were waiting for. The monk pulled out a prayer flag and blessed them on our heads, a length of multi-colored string cut with a lighter eagerly offered by the crowd, a guide book to the Wutaishan Mountains, and his business card. All of these were shoved into my hesitant hands. After a brief pause, during which no one knew what would happen next, he bowed again and handed over his personal fan, an undecipherable business card, and a card for the Taiyuan airport with (oddly) a picture of the Space Shuttle on it. He then bowed deeply at my feet. With no other options, I begged him to take back everything except the prayer flag and the colored string and sealed the deal with a 10 yuan bill. He accepted and stood up, but that was not the end of it. The monk pulled out a blank envelope and motioned for me to write on the back. Uncertain and skeptical, I wrote my name off to the side and slightly crooked. The monk inspected it, cocking his head to the side. He then rotated it 90-degrees like Chinese script and stamped it with a large, dry Chinese stamp which he had retrieved while I was writing. The next few moments will forever be in my memories of this adventure. The monk pulled out a large, brilliant red stamp pad covered in thick, copious ink. He pressed the stamp into it, working it like a mortar and pestle to fully saturate its face. Finally, my hand was snatched almost from my wrist and held firmly while the monk (stronger than he appeared) forced the newly-inked stamp hard against my helpless palm. He pressed it for ten, twenty seconds--the sharp edges of the stamp digging in to my flesh and rich ink squishing out under its edges. When he reached for my left hand, I pulled it away too quickly for him; I motioned that, though I appreciated his offering, the one was more than sufficient. He nodded with acceptance and put his things away. I will forever be indebted to the anonymous hand that reached from the back of the crowd, offering a clean, crumpled tissue. The group chuckled as a tried to politely and subtly clean the excess ink and exited through an opportune pathway from the center.

The story ends as unassumingly as it started; the crowds eventually departed, apparently satisfied, and our businessman arrived slightly late but with valid tickets in hand. We boarded our train flabbergasted, laughing, and relieved to be returning to Beijing.
----
After a brief stop in Beijing, T and I began the next phase of our journey: Mongolia. To be honest, we knew very little about modern Mongolia when we arrived. It now boasts a democratically elected government and a free market economy, but the country is still working out a balance between the traditional nomadic lifestyle and western influences flowing in through the capital city. The results of the prior week's election riots were visible in two burned-out buildings and a few smashed windows, but the city was bustling and back to business as usual. We visited the central square which is ringed with modern high-rises and ate lunch at a "Mongolian" grill.

After lunch, we piled into our Nissan Pathfinder "Sahara"--an amazingly robust vehicle for the roads ahead--with a hired driver Jagaa, tour guide Sarah, and new found travel companion Chuck. Over the course of a week, we traversed west across the grassy steppes covered with herds of livestock and gers and ventured south into the Gobi Desert. We visited a wild horse sanctuary, the ruins of the capital of the Mongolian empire, numerous Buddhist temples, the brilliantly red Flaming Cliffs, a valley in the Gobi with ice remaining through the summer, the Naadam celebration in Dalanzadgad, and the pristine Gorkhi-Terelj National Park for some quality rock-climbing time.

We were impressed with the vast landscapes, the young ages of the riders at the Naadam horse race, and the welcoming generosity of all the families we visited. On several occasions, we were invited into a family's ger or tent and offered milk tea, camel milk, cheese, biscuits, and vodka. Mongolia can easily be too large and lonely for one person or family; it's common for perfect strangers to stop on the road and talk about the condition of the road ahead or share a meal and chat. This exceptional friendliness helps eliminate the boundary between strangers and is a large component of the Mongolian personality. T and I truly enjoyed this, and all other facets of our adventure in Mongolia. We have numerous short stories to tell, but little time to do more than jot them down in our journal and proceed to our next destination. However, we have posted many, many pictures from Mongolia in our photo album at the top right of the page. Enjoy!