We went to Mongolia and lived to tell the tale

Hello loyal readers! G here to regale you with exciting tales of our wild adventures in Mongolia, from which we have recently returned safely. But to start at the start:

To prepare for his trip, Z started wearing his Mongolian deel around the house before we left. Then he forgot to pack it and wore t-shirts while he was actually in Mongolia.

N limited his preparation to stuffing his face with berries, which he must have somehow intuited would not be readily available on the steppes.

B and I, on the other hand, were both hard at work: I preparing for and taking the bar exam, B packing up and moving the entire house on her own. But needless to say, these burdens were made light to us by the tantalizing prospect of a relaxing, month-long trip to the third world with our two small kiddos in tow. And let me assure you, there is nothing those kids like better than being on airplanes for two days straight! Why, as the end of the intercontinental journey approached they were literally screaming at the top of their lungs, they were so sad to finally leave the wonderful plane behind. But they quickly managed to get over it once we arrived.

I suspect that a primary reason the kids liked Mongolia so much is that they were spoiled beyond their wildest dreams by their grandparents. Bear in mind that this was the first time that B's parents had ever met the boys, and they behaved about as you'd expect doting grandparents to. Of course, this meant that whatever discipline B and I had previously somehow miraculously managed to achieve with the lads went kaput. They picked up remarkably quickly on the fact that they could just get whatever they wanted from their two new favorite people.

Now, the more perspicacious among you are no doubt thinking, "G, if this was the first time the lads met their grandparents, doesn't that also mean that it was the first time for you to meet your in-laws?" And I respond that, yes, indeed it was. Many people asked me beforehand if I were nervous about this first meeting. I guess I was a little, but it went fine, and if seven goat skins are any indication, they liked me well enough. Allow me to explain more precisely what I mean.

B's father wanted to give me a gift, as is customary for fathers-in law to do. B told me that he asked her, "How many goat skins do you think your husband would want? Seven?" Thankfully, I was able to convince him through grunts and gestures that, no really, one goat skin would be sufficient. Even so, I am proud to announce to all and sundry that I am officially a seven goat skin husband, which is something pretty fine, if I may say so.

Here is an interesting fact for all you readers who happen to hail from developed nations: Mongolians are tougher than you. I can say that with complete confidence after an episode depicted in the above picture. In it, I am explaining to Z some of the finer points involved in making a fire for the wood stove in our log cabin. Now, while I do not claim to be some modern Prometheus, I am an Eagle scout, and this was not the first fire I had ever made, if you take my meaning. I'd been at it for a few minutes, and things were coming along all right, in my opinion, when B's little sister walked in, took one look at me and my fire, and laughed right out loud. She shooed me away, demolished my feeble effort and - I am not exaggerating in the slightest - within 30 seconds she had a roaring blaze going. This kind of thing was happening to me all the time. I'm sure that by the end of our trip, I ranked somewhere just behind garden slugs in my elder son's estimation of my capabilities.

We spent most of our time on our trip in Ulan Batar, the capital city of Mongolia, where B's family lives. But we spent a week touring around the country and seeing various sights. Above is a big rock that probably has a proper name but which I call "turtle rock." Here Z had the time of his life riding a camel and we also climbed to the top of the rock.


We visited this very impressive Buddhist temple. I believe the worshipers here belong to the yellow hat sect.

Here we are in the "little" Gobi desert. If you look closely at our minivan, you will see that it is raised up on a sturdy chassis atop some fairly large tires. When we first arrived in the city, where the roads are paved, I saw many vans like this as well as other 4x4 trucks and thought they were a little silly. Then I traveled to the countryside, where not only are the roads not paved, but are often nonexistent, and the scales fell from my eyes. We bumped all around the country in this trusty van, and I soon understood quite clearly that these types of vehicles are necessities rather than fashion statements for people who drive into the country.

This is a picture of a ger (often referred to by westerners as a "yurt," the Russian word for it), which are ubiquitous both in and out of the city. The ger is portable, so families who live in them pack them up when the time comes and move around with their herds and the seasons. While we were driving, we would occasionally stop at a ger and buy airag, which is fermented mare's milk. If you have not been fortunate enough in your life to ever sample fermented mare's milk, let me take this opportunity to offer a candid but fair-minded gastronomic review: It is horrible. I generally found that I could choke down no more than a few swallows before my stomach went into open rebellion against me. Thankfully, B loves the stuff and quaffs it with relish, so I was usually able to slyly swap bowls with her once she was done to avoid offending our hosts. The downside of this tactic is that as soon as someone noticed me sitting there with an empty bowl, they would promptly fill it back up.

This unfortunate fellow was clumsy enough to be caught trying to eat some sheep that belonged to a local farmer. He met a swift demise. I'm not sure what the precise purpose of putting him on display is, but if I were another wolf, I would think twice before messing with this particular farmer's flock.

That same farmer did let me ride his yak, though. Now while it is great fun to ride a yak, they are not exactly sprightly animals. In fact, "lumbering" is the adj. I would apply, and the scenery passes by a little bit slowly from atop a yak.

But we also got to ride Mongolian horses, for an altogether different experience. Once again, despite having earned a Horsemanship merit badge at Camp Baldwin many years ago, my meager skills inspired no small measure of laughter, but I still had a stupendous time. And I might add in my own defense that there are no better horsemen on the face of the earth than the Mongols. I once saw a kid who could not have been older than five riding along bareback at full gallop, then bringing the horse to a screeching halt while simultaneously dismounting, all with a ho-hum expression on his face, as though he did this sort of thing every day. And he probably does.

Speaking of horses, if this isn't the largest equestrian statute you've ever seen, you have seen a very large one indeed. This, of course, is Chingis Khaan, Mongolia's national hero. The level of adulation he still receives in Mongolia even 800 years later is astounding, as this five-story statute attests. He is also an extremely interesting historical figure. I can confidently recommend the book Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World, by Jack Weatherford, to those of you who are interested in this remarkable man's achievements and legacy.

Finally, here's a shot of the whole gang in front of the statute. We all had a great time together on our trip to Mongolia. Or at least I think we did. Since I could understand about 1% of everything anyone said to me and speak even less, I spent most of the time smiling and nodding in what I hoped was a comprehending but noncommittal way. I imagine in this way I probably agreed to all sorts of things that I might want to have considered more carefully, but these are the risks we ignorant monolinguals must run in life, I suppose.

Stay tuned for more pictures coming up soon!