One More Reason to Visit Mongolia in 2008

 

This will be one of the few places in the world where you may view the August 1, 2008 Solar eclipse.

Day 5: Reflections while shoving 16 people and their luggage out of the mud

(This is my final entry.  Day five of my little excursion into Mongolia's wild countryside.  If you are just picking up this up now,  I suggest that you go back to Day 1.  That way you can read all of the fun and excitement that led up to the final day...)

Day 5

To quote Samwise Gamgee, "Well, I'm back".  My journey wasn't near the epic proportions of Sam and Frodo's - but it is nice to be back after another long travel day.  The reality is that this trip has truly helped me to better understand the country and the people I am called serve - and for that am grateful - and thus was worth every rut in the road. 

Today started with eggs and toast at the Fairfield again.  I really do like that place and definitely recommend it if you're ever in Tsetserleg.  Maybe next time I will be there early enough in the evening to grab a cheeseburger for supper.

Once again during breakfast I found a ride.  A European couple was staying there as well (He's Italian and she is German) and they had hired a nine-passenger micro-bus to take them back to UB, so obviously there was plenty of room for one more.  So for about â‚®15,000 I had passage back home.  I was pleased with this.

I did need to hurry and eat, pack my belongings and get to the van.  When I got there the van already contained 8 or so other people.  Of course, there's no way this guy is going to UB with an empty van.  However, because it was a nine passenger van it was okay.  With luggage things were a tad tight - but definitely doable.  I had a seat in the back by a window, for which I was grateful.  We went through the now familiar ritual of getting gas and oil and water (they wait until they're full before they do this.  I guess there's no point in buying gas if you're not going anywhere?)  However, soon enough, we were on our way.

Shortly, outside of Tsetserleg the van stopped.  Someone along the side of the road had waved the micro-bus down.  We're adding another passenger.  This happened three more times within the first two hours of the trip.  When all was said and done, we had 16 passengers and luggage crammed into that micro-bus.  The irony of it is - 16 isn't bad.  In the city, when there's no luggage involved, they can crush near thirty people into one of those things.  I guess we should be grateful he stopped when he did.  I managed to keep my window seat, but it was a really tight squeeze, as a family of three plus another teenage-looking boy all shared my seat  that was meant for three people.  I just sort of leaned out the window and hung on for most of the 12 hours we were in there. 

As we were bouncing down the same rutted old paths that brought me, I was listening to a Biographical Sermon about Adoniram Judson, by John Piper.  The Title is "How few there are who die so hard: The Cost of Bringing Christ to Burma".  It quite frankly put my uncomfortable bus ride back to UB in to perspective.  I have not suffered. Not yet, anyway.  Judson had to sleep on his shoulders with his feet stuck up in the air on a pole every night for seventeen months in a Burmese prison.  I am thinking that probably qualifies for suffering.  In it all, I also know that suffering is God's design for reaching those without the Gospel - and for discipling this little church in Mongolia - so young in the faith and immature.

As I sat and listened and pondered the fruit of Judson's sufferings while bouncing down those little rutted paths, I was challenged by John 12 and the corn of wheat once again.   I want, more than anything, fruit from my life and the lives of those I am called to serve.  But fruit only comes through death - and as I listened to the story of Judson and his life and his death and his fruit, I was made to realize once again that death needs to keep working in me while I still breath the air of this earth. It's not enough to leave die by by leaving everything that is loved and familiar and to come to Mongolia (and not everything loved, I have my family here with me - or at least will again in a couple of days). But we don't die once.  We must die - take up the cross - every single day. 

I also listened to John Piper (in this same message - it was delivered at a pastor's conference) encourage pastors to consider leaving the pastorate in order to go to the unreached and the under-reached peoples of the world.  That sounded like a loved and familiar song.  The more I thought about it, however, the more it makes sense to me.  Pioneer/front line missionary work is not a work for the inexperienced or the new Christian worker fresh out of bible school or seminary.  The work that needs to be done here in Mongolia requires men who have "Seen a few winters" (sorry, more Tolkien quotes); men who know what it takes to 'make disciples" - and have already done the stuff through the hard work of pastoring.  Because it's even harder work doing these kinds of things cross-culturally and in a war zone of Buddhism and Shamanism and Communism and humanism and probably a hundred other ism's that I have not even heard of before!.  In other words, the need is for laborers - but not laborers with soft hands and inexperienced minds.  We need laborers who are already weathered.  Pastors who have proven themselves faithful are prime missionary candidates, in my opinion.  And anyone who is in the pastorate, should consider what God might be saying about future ministry. 

You can't listen to this thing on Judson without it stirring the heart to that end.  I can't anyway. 

So - as these thoughts are swirling through my head, I look up and realize that it has been raining.  Now the dusty roads have turned to sludge - and it was about that time that our driver made a bad decision.  He went left, when he should have gone right - and we had to stop for about a half hour, while all of the men on the bus had push it out of the mud.  One more incident to make it a true Mongolian experience.  The sun was going down, as we pulled into UB right around 9:00 PM. 

and ... well, I'm back. 

Day 4: My Day in Yellow Dog Hell

(So here is day four's installment.  If you haven't read the previous entries, start here.  Otherwise, read the journal entry and view the pictures from...)

Day 4

I am almost too tired to write this, but I do need to take a minute to make a note of my insane day in 'Yellow Dog Hell'. 

First let me explain what that means ...

I woke up this morning at 6:00 AM to the tune of yaks munching grass right outside my tent.  I hate it when that happens. 

(Yak Water Polo?)

I went on a small photo safari, read my Bible and began to break down my camp site.  My Mongolian campsite companions told me yesterday that they were thinking about leaving at around 8:00 AM.  Well, you don't don't have to be in Mongolia very long to know that really means we'll probably leave sometime after 10:00.  It was 10:15 actually, when we finally pulled out of there.  I was also told that we wouldn't start driving right away, because some of the party didn't get a chance to view the volcano on the first day.  However, before that we all visited a little spot near the lake called (in Mongolian) "Yellow Dog Hell".  Here's why it has such a noble name.

Many, many years ago two rivers (a mommy river and a daddy river?) had a daughter (that would be White Lake - Tsagaan Nuur).  And for some reason that I am not entirely sure about, the daughter had a yellow dog (Why a lake would have a dog is not too clear in my mind, but it's a story so quit asking questions). At one point their daughter got very sick and was about to die.  So the parents went to ... I am guessing the shaman, but I don't know that detail for certain.  He told told them that if the daughter was to live, then the dog would have to die.  So the father took her dog and left it here. 

  

After five days the dog died.  And Tsagaan Nuur lives to this day.  This place is now called "Yellow Dog Hell". It's quite an interesting spot, actually, with more unusual volcanic rock formations. 

So after this, one van went to the volcano.  The rest of us went into the little village of Tariat, and waited for them at  little guanz.  It was a nice guanz (as far as food was concerned), and had some of the best hoosier I've had in Mongolia.  So I drank milk tea and ate meat pies.  The others in my group were also drinking some kind of soup made with sheep intestines.  I try to avoid food made with any kind intestinal material whenever possible, and managed to squeak through that one unscathed.  We watched Mongolian Wrestling that was taking place for Naadam in UB on a little television. It was really quite the Mongolian moment.

(The food was definitely better than the place looked on the outside!)

  

After some time there, we moved to a bridge that was on the edge of town and waited for the volcano visiting people there.  They showed up at some point.  But in the meantime, the folks in my van decided they wanted to take another swim in the river.  I say another swim, mind you, because they had all already been swimming in the lake that morning.  I have decided that Mongolians really like to go bathing in water whenever it is possible for them to do so.  It also seems that there is absolutely no shame in swimming in your underwear.  So they do, and so they did.  Not really to the point of feeling all that comfortable swimming in my underwear (and not really wanting to sit in a van for 8 hours with wet underwear), I elected to take pictures of sheep and take a nap in the van. 

  

When I woke up, the swimmers were coming back - and it seems that the other van had showed up at some point - dropped off some who wanted to swim - and went on to the next guanz because they hadn't eaten yet.  So we packed up and rode on to meet them.  After about 20 minutes we found them, and stopped.  Forthwith, everyone else decided they wanted to eat there as well.  By the time we left that guanz, it was 4:00 in the afternoon - and we were 20 minutes away from the lake.  I was beginning to sense that this was going to be a long trip. 

We stopped several more times before we finally pulled off the dirt path and into a small group of gers that were a bit off the trail.  It was probably 8:30 at this point.  They wanted to buy fresh airag.  So we pulled into this place and the family had us go into their ger, and we drank more milk tea and ate hard bits of cheese, and they gave us big bowls of airag.  We were there for about an hour before one of my party came to me and said that they all wanted to spend the night here. 

I did a quick calculation in my head and figured that at this rate, I wouldn't get home until sometime in August - so I said thanks for the ride this far, but I really needed to get to Tsetserleg tonight, as I had left some money there to purchase a bus ticket back to UB tomorrow.  So the sun had set, it was after 10:00 and they helped my wave down a car that was going toward Tsetserleg.  It was two ladies and 2-year old in a Toyota Rav4.  I was kind of glad that I got to ride in one of those, because I think that's the type of car I would for us to purchase next year.  The class reunion folks were very gracious, and wouldn't allow me to pay them any money for gas. We said our good byes and I got in the car.

I don't know how this lady found her way to Tsetserleg.  These roads are tough in the day - darn near impossible at night.  Somehow (sometime after 11:30) she found the way, and here I write form the Fairfield, not-by-Marriott guest house once again.  Same room even. The ladies were driving on to Khar Khoren - which is two more hours down the road, at least.  They also wouldn't accept any money.  Very nice people. It is now after midnight and tomorrow may be another challenge, as there is no bus running to UB because of Nadaam.  I may be stuck here until Saturday, which is not necessarily a terrible thing. They do have a hot shower and the food's not bad.  But it would be nice to get back home.  It will be nicer now to go to sleep. 

Day 3: My Name is Rain

Part 3 of the Arhaingai travel blog.  Again, this more or less straight form my journal while bouncing around central Mongolia. You may read the previous two entries as well.

Day 1

Day 2

And now day 3...

Morning - Well it did rain last night, but I stayed warm and dry. The tent works well!

(The view from my tent) 

I was thinking this morning about a conversation I had with a lady coming off the volcano (the one who spoke some English).  There are a a series of ovoos (a pile of rocks with roots in shamanism that are on every high place in Mongolia.  They are thought to be the dwelling place of various sorts of spirits and/or dead relatives.) coming off the volcano.  The Mongolian people will throw rocks or money or some other trinket on top of the ovoo and walk around it three times.  I waited as a group of folks did this while we were coming down.  The lady said she needed to do it, but she went on to say that she had no idea why she did it.  She shrugged her shoulders and said that maybe it was just the Mongolian way.  I have come to the conclusion that for the majority of Mongolians this is the case.  They don't know why they do what they, particularly as far as spiritual things are concerned.  She went on to tell me that during the days of Communism it was illegal to celebrate cultural events.  Not even Tsagaan Sar (the big celebration during 'Chinese New Year') was allowed.  It made me realize how truly fragmented this culture really is - and yet how deep it flows, in that even after being suppressed and persecuted, it still has found a way to rise again. The issue being that the meaning behind the events and the ritual has been forgotten by many. 

Evening - Well, this day did not go as expected!  I had wanted to have a quiet day, maybe climb a peak or two, do some reading, do some writing - but none of that, really.  I spend most of the morning and a good portion of the afternoon with my new Mongolian friends celebrating both Naadam and their 15 year class reunion.  There is one lady who works for the Peace Corps who knows English fairly well.  However, this has been some decent language practice - I've heard quite a bit of regular colloquial Mongolian.  I was not really able to follow conversations with out help from my Peace Corps friend, but it did come in bits and pieces.  In any case, I ended up being the 'guest of honor' when it came time to start the toasts.  Of course in Mongolia, when the toasts start - they don't really ever stop.  Interestingly enough, as the vodka flowed (for the Mongolians, not for me - just to be clear) so did the conversation.  I learned what this 80 year old math teacher (the man pictured below) thinks about the changing educational and political system in Mongolia.  Others shared about what they think the real purpose in life is - or should be.  My Peace Corps friend asked me if I think spiritual comes before material, or if material comes before spiritual.  In her mind, the capitalist system - and the people who are brought up in that system - will always place material things over spiritual things.  She says Mongolians are not wired that way.  Mind you she doesn't like socialism either.  She (and the others I was talking with) feel that Mongolia needs to find her own system that works for Mongolia.  I said that I would tend to to agree.  However, I also told them that I am a Christian and that people who are really Christians believe that the spiritual will always take precedent over the material - because we live for what is to come.  She seemed quite surprised and didn't know that Christians believed like that - I guess she thinks we're all capitalist money-lovers.  It seems to me that some of these folks had never really been exposed to real Christianity.  The vodka went around again and the conversation moved to other subjects like rain and how to make good airag and the lifestyles of sheep herders. 

I don't know if it was because of the liquor, or if my name is really that difficult to pronounce in Mongolian.  However, they asked my name several times.  I would tell them - and they would make some effort to pronounce it - but with quite a bit of difficulty.  At which point they decided I needed a Mongolian name.  At first they transcribed my name to it's closest Mongolian words which ended being: Bor Nyam - which means "Brown Sunday".  I don't think they liked that too much - which was fine because I really didn't like it either. So they just made it "boroo" - which means "rain".  Now, lest you think they were insulting me - in Mongolia, rain is actually looked upon as a good weather condition.  The rain turns the grass green and that means food for the livestock.  Rain is considered a good thing when it arrives.  Mongolians actually like rain (verses our concept of "raining on the picnic").  So I guess they thought it an honor to call me rain - and thus they did all day long. 

We shared their airag and goat meat - I shared my peanut and M&M trail mix.  They liked the goat meat and the horse milk much better.  Sometime after 3:00 PM it actually did begin to rain and I think they  went to sleep off some of the day's celebration.  After the rain cleared out, I climbed a nearby mountain and came back in time to eat some supper and crawl into my sleeping back before the next rain comes. It has been quite an interesting day.  These folks have offered to give me a ride back to Tsetserleg tomorrow.  I am quite pleased to have made their acquaintance. 

(The view from the peak of the mountain <around 10,000 feet>.  You can see the volcano in the foreground)

(Small man on the summit - Tsagaan Nuur behind, just prior to sunset)

Day 2: New Friends, A Rich Herdsman and Six hours in a Hyundai

This is part two in a series of 'Travel Blogs' of my recent trip to White Lake in Arhaingai.  These are are notes taken mostly from my journal while I was away, along with pictures of the trip. You may read part 1 here.  You may view most of the photos here. 

So without further adieu - Day 2

 Breakfast at Tsetserleg was very nice - scrambled eggs and toast with coffee.  It was during breakfast that I met a Mongolian guy with a car (a ten year old Hyundai that had definitely seen better days) who was willing to take me to Tariat (the little village that is south and east of White Lake).  So for â‚®15,000 (less than $15) I agreed to let him take me there.  Two hours later, after he got oil, gas, water, food and three more passengers we left Tsetserleg and drove six hours on non-roads in a Hyundai.  It wasn't too bad of a trip.  The country was absolutely beautiful.  Many animals - including a lot of yak. We stopped at several guanz for milk tea, hoosier (a fried meat pie) and airag (horse milk that has been slightly fermented). 

The other passengers included two guys who were also 'drivers' by profession, and a lady who is a teacher in Tariat.  We listened to the the drivers cassette tapes the entire way there.  The music varied between Mongolian hip-hop to some guy who sounded uncannily like Gene Autry singing Mongolian songs.  The lady in the car sang along to every one of them.  It was like a duet. 

I had hoped to watch some of the Naadam festivities (Naadam is the summer festival of Mongolian independence.  Featured are the three 'manly sports': Archery, Horse racing, and Mongolian wrestling).  It was too late, though.  We did see a bit of a horse race, though.  By the time we reached Tariat the festival was breaking up. 

The driver finally dropped me at a bridge on the edge of town and I began walking. It was a fascinating hike.  I walked along a 7,000 year old lava flow.  There are seven different dead volcanoes in the area.  I ended up taking a road that led to the largest of these.  Ancient lava flow and volcanic rock lay everywhere. 

While walking up to the volcano I ran into a group of Mongolians visiting the area from UB.  One lady spoke a little bit of English and invited me to join their group.  The best I can understand they are here for a 15 year class reunion from University, it turns out they were fairly close to my age.  In any case, they insisted that I ride with them to the Tsagaan Nuur - which was fine after hiking up to the top of the Volcano.

It was interesting talking to  my new found Mongolian friends.  Mongolian culture does not understand why anyone would come way out here by themselves.  They don't like to be alone and in fact many are fearful of being by themselves.  While I wanted to put my tent out of the way of people, These folks insisted that put my tent close to theirs.  Now some others have arrived and I write this within earshot of their music and card games - and now there is a dog asleep at my feet outside my tent.  Weird. 

This evening (after eating some mighty tasty ramen) I ended up making acquaintance with a Mongolian herder.  He is forty years old - my age almost.  However he looked like he could have been 60 with his weathered skin and tough leathered hands.  He is actually a wealthy herder with 20 horses, 100 sheep, 70 goats and 70 yak.  A couple of folks from my class reunion friends were talking to him with me.  Even the city folk seem to have a real romantic view of the country side.  One lady asked if there were any wealthy herders who are single.  I am assuming that she is single as well ... but you never know. 

So the sun sets on White Lake (Tsagaan Nuur) and thus ends day two.  I think it may rain tonight.  It will be a good test for the tent.  Hope I am dry in the morning.