Meat with potatoes
Chopped meat
Fried meat
Cooked meat
Meat dumplings
Soup with meat dumplings
Tea with meat dumplings
Dumpling soup with bread on top
Meat with fat
Meat with onions
Meatballs
Wednesday 12 August 2009
Tuesday 11 August 2009
Ikh Uul
The 'homestay' night was the genuine article. Mid-afternoon we left the tracks and headed off over the grassy hillside towards a pair of gers. Our tour leader talked to the families, making all the necessary small talk - "Are your animals fattening up nicely?" is the local equivalent of "How are you?" - while gauging the atmosphere before asking if we could stay. It took a couple of attempts to find a two-ger family who seemed suitable and soon we were welcomed in for salty tea and to meet three generations of the family (grandma in bed). We made small talk, Masha translating, and grandpa told us how they have a long tradition of welcoming visitors and asked where we all came from, while we sampled broth, dried curds and sweetened cooked cream. A snuff bottle was passed round – a tradition dating back hundreds of years – and I spiced up my nostrils with what reminded me of ground up incense – not unpleasant, though a little itchy. Formalities 
over, we were reminded that this was now our home and we wandered in and out of the gers and over the surrounding pasture.Returning to the main ger, I took in the old photos, cooking area and dozens of bowls and buckets containing yoghurt, cream and cheese in various stages of development. I was handed a bowl of the freshest, most delicious natural yoghurt you could imagine.
In the evening, the younger men of the family returned with the cows and sheep and goats from their grazing. After dark it was slightly surreal to step out with a torch and be met by 200 pairs of animal eyes. The whole family joined us for the meal we cooked (by 'we' I mean our guide and drivers!). Then the vodka came out, grandpa ensuring that the correct etiquette was followed for the filling and passing of the cup. After one round of our apple vodka (not recommended) he brought out an old water bottle filled with 'the best' - a home-made vodka made from yoghurt. It was a clear drink, not very strong in terms of alcohol, but with a distinct whiff of back end of goat. Suddenly the apple stuff tasted good after all.
Later we were joined by a couple of young men, who it seemed had heard that there were exotic strangers visiting. More rounds of vodka were drunk, before we split up to sleep on the f
loors of the two gers. I ended up in the one where two guys sat laughing on each bed as we unrolled our sleeping bags and squeezed in like a row of sardines. Their comments and gestures certainly contained a fair dose of suggestiveness as well as general mirth, but the atmosphere was good and it simply meant that we all got the giggles too. All that is except one, who got a bit hoity-toity about it all, in between kicking up an inordinate fuss about the presence of a few beetles. Eventually, everyone settled down and I got a pretty good night's sleep, all things considered.It amazes me that there are still places in the world where you can knock at a stranger’s door and be offered lodging for eleven people. Our welcome was genuine and the evening was truly a slice of real Mongolian life. Having stayed in tourist ger camps it was fascinating to see inside a nomadic family’s home, from the churns of milk products and curds drying on the roof to the small television which appeared to be attached to a car battery which was charged by a solar panel. Life here has changed in only the smallest ways over the last few centuries.
Sunday 9 August 2009
Journey in pictures
Big sky, small loo:
(Click on pictures to enlarge)
(Click on pictures to enlarge)A rather picturesque shopping centre in Erdenet where we stopped for supplies:
Road through the valley:
Vans with attitude:
Unt (wherever that might be)
Woke to a bitter wind and dramatic sky, but no rain. The dirt roads were almost dry and the weather improved all day, until suddenly there was my Mongolian dream of hot sun, cool air and wide blue sky. The long day's drive was broken by stops to admire a roadside cairn, some yaks - god, what gorgeous beasts - and to laze around in a hillside meadow rampant with wildflowers and grasshoppers.
Leaving the road (we will not see another one for many days), we bounced along more rough tracks to reach tonight's ger camp, the sun still shining. Wandered through another pretty meadow, but didn't feel up to the hill so turned back to camp where I 'showered' under a trickle of scalding 
water and am sitting now in the last of the sun with a bottle of beer and my notebook.
Today I have seen grasslands rippling in the wind, huge herds of sheep, goats, yak, cattle and horses, herdsmen on horseback in traditional dress, miles of rolling green hills dotted with gers, and I am more than content. I can hear a few insects birds and horses and somewhere in the distance the faint clanging of a bell. It's past eight o'clock now and the shadows are growing long. It's impossible to imagine a place more peaceful, more wide and open.
water and am sitting now in the last of the sun with a bottle of beer and my notebook.Today I have seen grasslands rippling in the wind, huge herds of sheep, goats, yak, cattle and horses, herdsmen on horseback in traditional dress, miles of rolling green hills dotted with gers, and I am more than content. I can hear a few insects birds and horses and somewhere in the distance the faint clanging of a bell. It's past eight o'clock now and the shadows are growing long. It's impossible to imagine a place more peaceful, more wide and open.
Saturday 8 August 2009
Journey to Amarbayagalant
Leaving Ulaanbaatar behind, it soon became apparent that the rain was here to stay. The clouds came down to meet the hills that began to rise around us, often obscuring the peaks. There was something rather Scottish about it.Our lunch stop was at a basic transport cafe - meat and potatoes, meat and rice, fried meat or meat dumplings. I washed my welcome plate of stodge down with a warming cup of 'milk tea', a watery, salty milk drink that had never been near a tea leaf. We drove on through more rain.
The last 35km were off road, along boggy, churned-up mudtracks. Our Russian army vans and our drivers are amazing. We only got stuck once and that was because we'd pulled off a fairly usable 'track' to let an oncoming truck pass. I got out, braving the horizontal icy rain, to survey the scene. Watched a van pull out a mired jeep, which then towed us. We set off again, slipping, crawling and sploshing slowly onwards. Met a surprising number of saloon cars attempting the same journey. Apparently they just slosh along and get pulled out frequently by other vehicles.Near our ger camp we visited Amarbayagalant monastery. Despite being miserably cold and wet, I was able to enjoy a warming moment of awe in the prayer hall. The wooden ceiling was intricately painted, pillars were hung with dozens of multicoloured strips of tapestery. More textiles hung from the ceilings and furniture. It had a beautiful, softly coloured, ancient look, despite being recently renovated (about 25 years ago). It was orginally built in the 18th century and destroyed in the communist purges of the 1930's. The Mongolians practise Bhuddism in the Tibetan tradition and this is a style of decoration I have not seen before. Outside, prayer flags fluttered and young monks ran happily
in and out of the prayer hall, calling to each other, while an older youth practised playing an enormous horn. I love the way that these places seem so relaxed and happy, with none of the severity I associate with churches.Back at the ger camp, I didn't even contemplate the option of a cold shower, and instead piled on as many warm dry clothes as I could find. Had another meal of basic stodge, washed down with several cups of tea, despite knowling that the payback for instant warmth and comfort would probably be a midnight dash to the toilet block.
Friday 7 August 2009
Thursday 6 August 2009
Ulaanbaatar
Walking around Ulaanbaatar, the first thing you notice is that every other building is a bar. The second thing is that crossing the road takes nerves of steel, precision timing and a lack of concern for your own well-being. As in China, only a third of a road is safe to cross on green, because turning traffic (usually from all directions) will be on green filter while you cross. The difference here is that there are no bikes, rickshaws, handcarts and so on to slow everyone down - just impatient motorists taking corners at high speed, jockeying for position and blasting their horns. Even the locals run for it.
There is plenty of depressing Soviet architecture to be admired, most of it in a poor state of repair. Add to this the Cyrillic script and the general absence of signs in other languages and you quickly feel that you are in the USSR - which is daft as I've never been there. I say 'depressing' and yet there is something so stark and dismal about it that it is also exotic. Signs make doorways look like shops or eateries, but on entering you meet nothing but a dark, dank stairwell with peeling paint and crumbling plaster. Little English is spoken, and it seems hard to raise a smile from the locals when you try to buy a banana or try out a few words of Mongolian. There's something quite austere about the place and the people (who I can't help thinking have Chinese features but are built like Russians). Ancient, heavy buses clank along belching smoke, but looking good for another 50 years use. Service in shops is virtually non-existent and you are hard pressed to track down someone who can tell you the price of the two sleeping bags on display. You are doubly lucky if you can get him to tell you the price of the second one before he wanders away. Waitresses turn their back on you mid-order to listen in on colleagues' conversations. After China, where even smart department store staff pester you like market traders, it's both refreshing and frustrating. But I love it for its difference - there is no danger here of me saying "It's a bit like..." - I have never been anywhere like this. Here and there children beg on the streets, persistently and quite unpleasantly, with one dodging around to block your way while his mate disappears behind you. Pickpockets are apparently rife - something I'm willing to believe as the one time I wore my bag on my back because it held nothing but a bottle of water, I found it open.
Despite all this, UB is a pleasant place to wander around, with a very laid-back feel. I've visited a couple of museums and enjoyed sitting outside cafes for a bit of light refreshment. In the evenings I've gone out to sample local food and beer. Had a pint for David in the Chinggis Khan brewpub, which I can highly recommend. The food is meaty and stodgy but quite good, with plenty of vegetables - something I'm making the most of as we won't be seeing many once we leave the capital. Even at night, the city has a good atmosphere. It's easy to navigate too, and the only reason you tend to get lost is because distances are so short that you've overshot your target by half a mile before you've even stopped to consult your map.
The air is fresh and the breeze cool, giving a delicious contrast to the fierce sun. Some heavy rain has fallen too, flooding roads around the city and making road crossing even more exciting as you have to jump over a five foot wide puddle into the traffic. When it clouds over, there is a definite nip in the air - enough to make me doubt my supply of cosy clothes for those cold nights out in the hills. I've enjoyed UB, but I won't be sorry to leave it behind. I can't wait to get out into the countryside, the desert, hills and lakes that inspired me to come here.
There is plenty of depressing Soviet architecture to be admired, most of it in a poor state of repair. Add to this the Cyrillic script and the general absence of signs in other languages and you quickly feel that you are in the USSR - which is daft as I've never been there. I say 'depressing' and yet there is something so stark and dismal about it that it is also exotic. Signs make doorways look like shops or eateries, but on entering you meet nothing but a dark, dank stairwell with peeling paint and crumbling plaster. Little English is spoken, and it seems hard to raise a smile from the locals when you try to buy a banana or try out a few words of Mongolian. There's something quite austere about the place and the people (who I can't help thinking have Chinese features but are built like Russians). Ancient, heavy buses clank along belching smoke, but looking good for another 50 years use. Service in shops is virtually non-existent and you are hard pressed to track down someone who can tell you the price of the two sleeping bags on display. You are doubly lucky if you can get him to tell you the price of the second one before he wanders away. Waitresses turn their back on you mid-order to listen in on colleagues' conversations. After China, where even smart department store staff pester you like market traders, it's both refreshing and frustrating. But I love it for its difference - there is no danger here of me saying "It's a bit like..." - I have never been anywhere like this. Here and there children beg on the streets, persistently and quite unpleasantly, with one dodging around to block your way while his mate disappears behind you. Pickpockets are apparently rife - something I'm willing to believe as the one time I wore my bag on my back because it held nothing but a bottle of water, I found it open.
Despite all this, UB is a pleasant place to wander around, with a very laid-back feel. I've visited a couple of museums and enjoyed sitting outside cafes for a bit of light refreshment. In the evenings I've gone out to sample local food and beer. Had a pint for David in the Chinggis Khan brewpub, which I can highly recommend. The food is meaty and stodgy but quite good, with plenty of vegetables - something I'm making the most of as we won't be seeing many once we leave the capital. Even at night, the city has a good atmosphere. It's easy to navigate too, and the only reason you tend to get lost is because distances are so short that you've overshot your target by half a mile before you've even stopped to consult your map.
The air is fresh and the breeze cool, giving a delicious contrast to the fierce sun. Some heavy rain has fallen too, flooding roads around the city and making road crossing even more exciting as you have to jump over a five foot wide puddle into the traffic. When it clouds over, there is a definite nip in the air - enough to make me doubt my supply of cosy clothes for those cold nights out in the hills. I've enjoyed UB, but I won't be sorry to leave it behind. I can't wait to get out into the countryside, the desert, hills and lakes that inspired me to come here.
Tuesday 4 August 2009
Ulaanbaatar
Coming in to land at UB, I could see the entire, tiny city laid out below me, the empty countryside spreading away into the distance in every direction. Out there, herds of animals were being driven swiftly across hillsides, an occasional ger stood in solitude and dried streambeds snaked across shallow valleys in the gently undulating landscape. The city centre was marked by a small collection of slightly high-rise buildings. Around this stood a general low-level town and surrounding this, the ger camps which make up the suburbs. What a contrast to Beijing. Indeed, to anywhere I've been in China. Its hard to imagine that a capital city can be so small.
The airport too was tiny. The arrivals hall sported one luggage carousel, an ancient mechanical monster that clunked slowly round, while waiting passenges sprung up to unclog jammed cases from its claws. Beyond arrivals, there was no sign of the driver promised by my guesthouse. Another driver asked me where I was headed and indicated another passenger who was going to the same place, before calling our guesthouse to make arrangements. This other driver then took us instead, we were asked to have breakfast while we waited for our rooms to be ready but after an hour it turned out that there were no free rooms. so much for booking ahead. We were taken to a shabby establishment above a karaoke bar across the road...
By this stage we had realised that we would both be on the same tour as well, so we decided to burn plastic and try our luck at the hotel where the tour begins in a few days. It was a hot walk across town under my backpack, but the hotel is fine and not nearly as expensive as the tour operator's 'extra nights' charges had suggested.
The airport too was tiny. The arrivals hall sported one luggage carousel, an ancient mechanical monster that clunked slowly round, while waiting passenges sprung up to unclog jammed cases from its claws. Beyond arrivals, there was no sign of the driver promised by my guesthouse. Another driver asked me where I was headed and indicated another passenger who was going to the same place, before calling our guesthouse to make arrangements. This other driver then took us instead, we were asked to have breakfast while we waited for our rooms to be ready but after an hour it turned out that there were no free rooms. so much for booking ahead. We were taken to a shabby establishment above a karaoke bar across the road...
By this stage we had realised that we would both be on the same tour as well, so we decided to burn plastic and try our luck at the hotel where the tour begins in a few days. It was a hot walk across town under my backpack, but the hotel is fine and not nearly as expensive as the tour operator's 'extra nights' charges had suggested.
Monday 3 August 2009
Still hanging loose in Beijing
Yesterday I walked through the market and the maze of hutongs near my lovely hostel, enjoying more glimpses of everyday life - washing hung out to dry from electricity poles, tricycle carts of recyclables, bubbling vats of broth in which various things were cooked. I love the bustle, the pinging of bicycle bells, voices calling things I cannot hope to understand, the sense of purpose, punctuated by the langour of shop owners dozing outside their tiny hole-in-the-wall shops.
Eventually I found myself walking on a pretty little street beside Houhai Lake and the shops and cafes became more touristy. Coming towards me every so often I'd meet a stream of fancy rickshaws - definitely tourist land. Where the road met the bridge between this lake and the next was a delightfully busy spot, where groups of young tourists tried out their newly hired bicycles made for three, rickshaw drivers slept, smoked, or played with their phones - depending on their age - while patiently waiting for their next hire. There were swan-shaped pedal boats for hire, ice-cream stands and hundreds of happy holiday-makers. It could have been a tourist nightmare, but instead the atmosphere was laid back and rather pleasant. And the sky had cleared - for the first time in a week, I was seeing blue sky over Beijing.
I carried on, alongside Qianhai Lake and into the centre of the city, where I had a rather nice foot massage before sorting out a bit of pre-Mongolia shopping. I have walked miles and miles this week, from one side of the city to another nearly every day. It has been a great way to see random slices of the city as well as, hopefully, burning off some of the excesses of countless group meals while on the tour. At the end of the day I feel a mild tightening of my muscles and realise with pleasure that just a couple of months ago, I could not have done this.
My attempts to buy water purifying tablets have been in vain, the only useful upshot being that I have now mastered the correct pronunciation of the words in Mandarin as so many pharmacits have read it aloud from my phrasebook. They've never heard of the things and to those who speak some English I explain how you put one in dirty water, then you can drink... they then rush off only to reappear triumphantly smiling and proffering soluble aspirin, effervescent vitamins, cough mixture or even a tube of something which the accompanying mime suggested could be rubbed in to sore arms.
I've mastered (just about) the art of crossing the road. Pedestrian crossings work on the basis that you get a green man showing when straight ahead traffic has a red light. However, all bicycles, motorbikes etc are exempt from red lights, as are turning vehicles. The effect looks rather alarming as pedestrians try to cross in between a whirling mass of bikes etc, while cars, trucks and buses plough on round corners through the intersection. Somehow it all works out, like a badly choreographed display team which somehow avoids collisions. Pedestrians generally step out without looking, with an air of dozy indifference. If you get left standing between lanes of moving traffic, all the better. This happens quite a lot, as you can easily have 8 or even 10 lanes to negotiate, and the going is understandably slow, so lights tend to change before you have finished.
Today I moved out to the airport, in readiness for my early flight tomorrow. I am staying in a dump of a hotel. Despite being a 10 minute drive from the terminal, it is about 30cm from the end of the runway. It's not so much the noise, it's the way that the whole building shakes and the lights flicker every time a plane comes in to land. My bedroom door has clearly been kicked down in the past, the walls and carpets are filthy and the aircon doesn't work. I shrug these things off as best I can - I've stayed in worse - but it rankles that this is costing more than the wonderful place I've just left.
Eventually I found myself walking on a pretty little street beside Houhai Lake and the shops and cafes became more touristy. Coming towards me every so often I'd meet a stream of fancy rickshaws - definitely tourist land. Where the road met the bridge between this lake and the next was a delightfully busy spot, where groups of young tourists tried out their newly hired bicycles made for three, rickshaw drivers slept, smoked, or played with their phones - depending on their age - while patiently waiting for their next hire. There were swan-shaped pedal boats for hire, ice-cream stands and hundreds of happy holiday-makers. It could have been a tourist nightmare, but instead the atmosphere was laid back and rather pleasant. And the sky had cleared - for the first time in a week, I was seeing blue sky over Beijing.
I carried on, alongside Qianhai Lake and into the centre of the city, where I had a rather nice foot massage before sorting out a bit of pre-Mongolia shopping. I have walked miles and miles this week, from one side of the city to another nearly every day. It has been a great way to see random slices of the city as well as, hopefully, burning off some of the excesses of countless group meals while on the tour. At the end of the day I feel a mild tightening of my muscles and realise with pleasure that just a couple of months ago, I could not have done this.
My attempts to buy water purifying tablets have been in vain, the only useful upshot being that I have now mastered the correct pronunciation of the words in Mandarin as so many pharmacits have read it aloud from my phrasebook. They've never heard of the things and to those who speak some English I explain how you put one in dirty water, then you can drink... they then rush off only to reappear triumphantly smiling and proffering soluble aspirin, effervescent vitamins, cough mixture or even a tube of something which the accompanying mime suggested could be rubbed in to sore arms.
I've mastered (just about) the art of crossing the road. Pedestrian crossings work on the basis that you get a green man showing when straight ahead traffic has a red light. However, all bicycles, motorbikes etc are exempt from red lights, as are turning vehicles. The effect looks rather alarming as pedestrians try to cross in between a whirling mass of bikes etc, while cars, trucks and buses plough on round corners through the intersection. Somehow it all works out, like a badly choreographed display team which somehow avoids collisions. Pedestrians generally step out without looking, with an air of dozy indifference. If you get left standing between lanes of moving traffic, all the better. This happens quite a lot, as you can easily have 8 or even 10 lanes to negotiate, and the going is understandably slow, so lights tend to change before you have finished.
Today I moved out to the airport, in readiness for my early flight tomorrow. I am staying in a dump of a hotel. Despite being a 10 minute drive from the terminal, it is about 30cm from the end of the runway. It's not so much the noise, it's the way that the whole building shakes and the lights flicker every time a plane comes in to land. My bedroom door has clearly been kicked down in the past, the walls and carpets are filthy and the aircon doesn't work. I shrug these things off as best I can - I've stayed in worse - but it rankles that this is costing more than the wonderful place I've just left.
Sunday 2 August 2009
Things on sticks
Starfish, scorpions and grub-thingies
Things-on-a-stick stall
Grasshoppers
Seahorses and scorpions
NOOOOOO!
More mundane things on sticks
Saturday 1 August 2009
The great firewall of China
Due to the great firewall, I had to use another blog host while in China. I will try to move the posts to this site, but in the meantime you can visit http://www.travelblog.org/Bloggers/geckozo/ to see what I got up to.
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