Where Eagles Soar

It seemed like I had only just got home and I was packing my bags again. This time for a short holiday to the Golden Eagle Festival in Bayan-Olgii Province, a state in the north west of the country. Apart from the 4.30 am pick up to head to the airport I was really looking forward to the adventure.

We were a group of seven traveling together, all Australian volunteers, and we were all bleary eyed as we arrived at the airport in the dark. But the check-in was efficient and the security very thorough before we were on our way in a tiny thirty-seater, twin propeller job. A cold toasted sandwich and hot coffee saw us all happy.

The view of the landscape below was just a hint of the surprises the country had awaiting us, rugged and varied. We landed and virtually waited beside the plane for our luggage before leaving the quaint little airport. We were staying at "Traveler's Guesthouse", a small family run business. We were actually in gers in the yard of the main brick house, within the city limits. But the location didn't offer too many creature comforts. It was very cheap, $7 per person per night but...I was back to the long drop squat toilet and no shower. The toilet looked like an Aussie outback dunny and smelt the same. And I reckon that fellas are still poor with their aim, no matter where they are. Every time I entered, I hoped that the board floor was strong enough that I wouldn’t end up in that horrid pit. Fortunately, there was a city bath house, which was close by, clean and cheap, and we did have a stroll up there for a nice hot shower.

As a group, we set out to explore the town. I guess a typical Mongolian country town, we found the main square, complete with red star on a monument, before checking out a rather extensive museum. In here there was a huge collection of stuffed animals, the entry cheap but if you wish to take photos, you need to pay about four times the entry fee. Outside, there were cows grazing in the main street and we noticed an abundance of old Russian jeeps and vans. I wanted to take home one of the battered Russian sidecars that just had so much character.

The people here are Kazakhs and their culture is evident in their clothes and language. Some do speak Mongolian and they seemed to respond to a few Russian words too. The Kazakhs are of Turkish decent and have roots in Islamic culture, although apart from no drinking or selling alcohol on Friday, religion doesn't seem to be a big force. They first came to this region in the 1840's grazing their sheep during summer in the mountains and after the 1920 revolution, were designated a land of their own.  

After a meal in a Kazakh restaurant (where James ordered horse meat), we ventured further to explore the city, while a few of the group took off further afield for an overnight climb in the mountains. The two James (James A and James G) and I found the local market and we ourselves were quite an attraction for the locals. There were sheepskins for sale, complete with trotters, lots of Russian treats, knives that Crocodile Dundee would be happy with and lots of warm clothes. I found a leather coat for 50,000 (about $30) that I hope might be an advantage for winter.

James made a market purchase

We bedded down for the night in our ger, to say it was cold is an understatement. There were four beds around the circular wall, and my James and I decided to share, firstly because it was warmer and secondly, because my bed was literally a hard board. About an hour after we had gone to bed, our host came home and brought in a fire for us. With a head lamp perched on her head, she first struggled in with a large flat rock, followed by the flue which she aimed toward the hole specifically in the roof of the ger for it. Then, in came the chamber of the oven. Next coal and I could hear a gas blow torch to light it. Within a short time we were complaining it was too hot and the oven was literally glowing metal. But in the middle of the night it cooled quickly and I was so glad I could cuddle up with my personal hot water bottle next to me.

It is easy to make new friends in places like this and the next day we joined up with another Aussie and a Swedish guy to take a tour out to a lake. I was excited when we piled into an old Russian van, I had not been in one like this before. I can now tick that off and hopefully not need to do it again. There is no suspension and the dust was forming a cloud inside as we bumped along. And that was before we left the city limits. The quality of road only got worse but the scenery made it all worthwhile. This country just keeps unfolding surprise after surprise. There were snow capped mountains on one side and sweeping plains on the other. Huge rocky crags erupted out of the flat steppes. At times it looked like a lunar landscape, not a tree or bush in sight (which meant no hiding to do a wee). The sun created a palate of color with shadows and reflections, it was so beautiful.

The ride was so incredibly bumpy that we were thrown around inside the van and  conversation was difficult but that didn't matter, it made it easier to soak in the beauty. Occasionally we would pass another car and once or twice our new Swedish friend asked to stop so we could take photos. Trouble was, once I got out of the van, it took heaps of effort and lots of pushing and pulling to get me back up, bit embarrassing but worth it. I need longer legs.

We stopped at a Kazakh house for some typical hospitality and a lunch of meat and rice and milky tea, $7 for six of us. The house was simple and made of mud bricks with a flat roofed. It was a chance to meet a family and check out their toilet, I wasn’t brash enough out on the steppes. A small brick enclosure in the corner of the yard, no roof so the guys had a fantastic view of mountains as they looked over the wall. Inside the house was a large stove, sunk down into the floor, which acted both as a cooking stove and central heating. Pipes ran around the walls carrying hot water. There were two bedrooms with garish color schemes.

The young son of the family joined us when we were back in the van and we bounced off to the home of a Kazakh family who are Eagle Hunters. The whole family, three generations, came out for our visit while Dad proudly showed off his eagle to us. Grandma produced a fox pelt as evidence that they really do hunt. I think we frightened the little girl at first, we are such strange looking people, but with a few games of peek-a-boo, she warmed up and we had her laughing and joining in. The whole family appeared very proud of what they had but it looked like an extremely simple life. They may be lacking in the material things and their environment extremely harsh but they are surrounded by such stunning natural beauty, I hope they notice it.

Another push up and scramble into the van, a step ladder might have been more elegant, and we were back on the rocky road being thrown around as we headed back toward home. As we passed a lake, we turned in and headed toward two gers on the waters edge, a request to take photos.  Although an impromptu stop, we were invited in by the lady of the house to see the inside and to sample their aaruul, a dried curd which is left in the sun till hard. Such is the hospitality in Mongolia.

Aaruul, the curd out drying

The proud owner inside her Kazakh ger

Back at camp, a visit to the city bath house and that was the end of our day. Tomorrow was the 16th Annual Golden Eagle Festival, and the main reason we had come to town. We were traveling by bus about 8kms out of town to an area shaded by a mountain to watch the craft of the Eagle Hunters. This trip did have me concerned for my safety a bit, working out in my head the impact of half of Mongolia's Australian volunteers coming to grief when this bus slid over the rocky embankment. But, surprisingly, we did get there safely. As a penance for my mistrust, we had to endure the speeches of the opening ceremony but we did learn the event is sanctioned by UNESCO.

The festival was an exhibit of the local Kazakh hunters who, while on horseback, hunt with eagles on their arms for wolves, fox, rabbits, basically anything they can find. They dress suitably for the weather in big fur hats and coats made from the skins of previous catches. There was one guy with a coat made from the skins of seventeen foxes, that would be some winter warmer.  If not dressed in fur, their clothes are embroidered in a chain stitch with patterns in bright colors. Kazakh handicrafts all have this same embroidery and their gers are decorated in big curtains around the wall that become family heirlooms. These curtains are never finished, one side left unfinished because they say, life is never ending, so neither should the curtain be.

While waiting for their event, the eagles were kept hooded with leather hoods embellished with studs and gemstones until ready to hunt. The hunter, wearing a thick leather glove, sat on his horse at the bottom of the mountain, an off-sider had climbed up the mountainside with the bird. The hunter gives a wailing call as he starts to gallop and the bird is released. If the eagle does as it is supposed to, it swoops down and lands on the moving arm of the hunter. Of course, some eagles just wanted to play in the thermals. While the hunter called louder and louder, eventually getting off the horse and throwing raw meat in the air to attract the bird. I think that looses points. 

The hunters are expert horsemen, they are extremely agile while sitting in the saddle. One of the competitions was being timed while riding at speed and picking up a token from the ground. How they didn't fall off, I don't know. The horses are reasonably short and quite stocky, but they have to be sturdy to manage the terrain of rocks and stones.

I guess like any festival, there was local food on offer. We had a BBQ kebab, pieces of meat alternated with lumps of fat and painted with a yummy sauce. With this came a piece of bread and warm milky tea. The warmth from the tea bowl was really welcome, the wind was bitterly cold and cut straight through the layers that I had thought would be ample protection. There were stalls, well not really stalls because everything was on the ground, of handicrafts for sale. Lovely thick fur hats which are a must for the Mongolian winter, embroidered bags and purses and trinkets significant to the event.

James and I took a wander during the lunch break. We walked down by a river over an  incredibly rocky expanse. The walk to the river was easy but the return was harder, evidence that walking rocky ground is more difficult than it looks. But the views of mountains, a river and trees with autumn colors was our reward. We were back in time to see the last of the camel race and a few closing events.

Yes, it was cold

The Festival from the distance

Back on the bus, we were disappointed to have work commitments that were going to have us leave before the second day of the festival. But with things like tug of war, two riders using a gutted goat while on horseback and display of eagles hunting a fox, I am happy to miss the bloody parts of the show. While we waved goodbye as the bus set off for the second day, we were entertained by our hosts kids, two cute little boys. Nazka, our host, is Kazakh and her eldest son speaks both Kazakh and Mongolian. She runs the tourist camp by herself, with a little help from her brother and 85year old mother-in-law. She said that at the end of this month her family will do their slaughtering. One horse, one cow and seven sheep will see the family of four through winter.

Everyone was making new friends

Now, we are at the airport waiting for our flight back to UB. And again at the end of my travels, I'm looking forward to a long hot shower and a soft bed. I guess tomorrow it will be work and reality will set in again.

At Least it Didn't Snow

A few weeks ago I was asked if I would like to join a group of doctors traveling to one of the northern provinces to conduct screening and cancer prevention education. Of course, I jumped at the opportunity to see a little more than the confines of Ulaanbaatar. I really didn’t have any expectations, and that might have been just as well.

There was a meeting to make plans for the week-long trip, but of course nobody told me when it was, so I missed it. Not a good start. I asked what I needed to take but there wasn’t anything really, just warm clothes, because snow was forecast. I didn’t know where we were staying, but that was OK, I would have phone reception.

I had to be at the front entrance of the hospital at 11am Sunday morning, ready to leave at 11.30 for the 5 hour drive. So I was there promptly at 11 and waited till 11.20 before I started to worry. A quick phone call to the foreign relations officer (because she speaks English) and she checked, only to call back and say I needed to be at the back entrance.

Not to worry, I eventually found everyone as they were packing up the 3 cars that we were traveling in. I was appointed a translator, a nice young guy who works for the Khan Bank, who have sponsored the campaign. It seems that I have joined one of the last trips that have been happening over the spring and summer. Khan Bank, the largest in Mongolia, has financed the project, which has visited every province and, from what I have seen, have done a brilliant job in raising cancer awareness in a country that sees it as its biggest killer.

We took off through the city and my new friend told me we were lucky because there was a black road (bitumen) all the way to Sukhbaatar, the city we were heading to. Once out of the city the landscape changed and it was easy to avoid the silence by looking out the window enjoying what was spinning past. In the distance was a huge statue of the Buddha at the gateway to a cemetery and we suddenly came to a stop. The driver rummaged in the glove box and took out a bag of lollies. He crossed the road and stood at the top of a culvert and threw the lollies into the grass. He was making an offering to his ancestors. I did wonder how they felt about having to leave their resting place and walk across the open space to retrieve the sweets, but I guess we were on a schedule, so couldn’t stop too long.

Back on the black road, my English-speaking friend and I talked about religion, spurred by the sweet throwing, and he told me he was a shamanist. Of course, this then kept us chatting for a few more kilometres until we took a sudden left turn, doing a bit of cross country till we stopped by a creek. The cars were turned into a circle, just like cowboys and Indians, and they acted as a wind-break. Out came a picnic of cabbage salad, kim chi and lumps of cooked mutton. We all shared the meal happily, bottles of water and iced tea preceded the vodka. This proved to be the first in a long week of cabbage, mutton and vodka.

We all piled back in the cars and took off down the black road and more stunning scenery. It was windy and I had to smile when we drove past two little boys, breaking pieces off of a block of styrene foam and delighting as it flew away. It was simple play but I did think about the impact on this beautiful environment.

It was getting dark when we pulled into a little clearing and met the director of the hospital we were going to. We all climbed out, shook hands and climbed back in again, following the old Russian style ambulance on a dusty dirt road and through a forest. Lights in the distance, surrounded by a white picket fence, marked home for the next week.

We had ger accommodation in the middle of no where, as in no toilet, no shower, no internet and no soft mattress. But it was warm, heat from the old iron fire in the middle of the ger, and we were well cared for. We had dinner followed by a long string of toasts with vodka shots.

The "bathroom"

Next morning we went the 12 kms to the city in convoy, arriving at the hospital in plenty of time for the opening ceremony. This was held out in the sunshine, we all had T–shirts advertising Khan Bank and formed a long line before the large gathering of staff, community and TV cameras. There were lots of speeches, Mongolians love them, and lots of applause but I’m not sure what for because it was all in Mongolian. What had my camera out was the opera singer in a stunning blue strapless gown, it did look a bit out of place at nine thirty in the morning. Then we moved inside for more speeches and gift giving without all of the onlookers. This over and done with and it was down to business.

Front of Selenge Provincial Hospital

The doctors all took off to respective rooms and I was led to the head nurses room. She is a beautiful young lady who is very friendly but only limited English. All of the ward nurses were bringing in their report and the thing I noticed most was the amount of bling they were wearing. Sparkling rings were matched with sparkling earrings, and there were even hair-clips to match, wouldn’t get away with that in Australia. A large portrait of Florence Nightingale dominated the room and there was some pretty good training equipment. A photo album was displayed in front of me with photos of their domiciliary service. There are four teams of nurses who visit patients at home and tend their needs.

I took a tour of the Outpatient Department and I have to say I am pretty impressed. They have an obvious commitment to community education, running pre and post-natal classes, rehab and exercise classes and health promotion posters all over the walls. Nurses have regular education sessions, which are compulsory. There is a child-minding centre on site for the staff run by paediatric nurses. As part of my visit, I joined in with a day session of nursing education on cancer care. Included in this commitment was a short interview for the local TV. All I said was translated but I can only hope accurately.

On day two I was delighted to be told I could have a shower at the hospital…yeah. I thought I could tough it out with a bird-bath every morning and night but discovered I am too much of a princess. So Tuesday became Shower Day. All days previous now known a BS (Before Shower) and days after, AS (After Shower).

Of course it wasn’t all work, we did do some sight seeing. After work we would head off to local attractions. The first (1 day BS) was a trip to Russia, well at least over the border. I was a bit worried that I didn’t have my passport but no worries, a few words from the hospital director and they just waved us through. We spent about twenty minutes taking photos before doing some duty free shopping and back in the cars on the black road. It was getting toward sunset when we stopped at a little gazebo structure and all huddled together trying to stay out of the wind for speeches and vodka shots. I could see a pattern developing here.

Russian border

Left foot Mongolia, right foot Russia

Back in the camp for dinner, more speeches and vodka shots. I had been warned by an Australian friend that this is par for the course at Mongolian functions and she had given me the tip of only putting the glass to my lips which was just as well, because the lady serving made sure you never saw the bottom of the glass. My friend had also warned me to take some food along and I am so glad she did. Our menu has been as follows-

Breakfast: Hot milk, bread, jam, salad, mutton soup, lollies

Lunch: Hot milk, bread, fried pancake (more like batter), salad, mutton soup

Dinner : Hot milk, bread, salad, beef soup, vodka shots, lollies

 Are you getting the picture? There was a variation to this, one morning we had rice porridge. Between lunch and dinner there was always pre-dinner vodka, where ever we may be, accompanied with bread, sausage, speeches and lollies.

Hospital cook preparing lunch

Mmmmm lunch

Some of the scenery we saw was breath taking, I don’t think my photos do it justice. Unfortunately it was always in late afternoon, just as it was getting cold and dark. One evening (1 day AS), after work, we took off down to the river where two small tents with tables and chairs had been put up. It was freezing! There was a potbelly stove giving us a bit of warmth but we were all told to huddle into one of the tents. You guessed it, speeches and vodka. I was encouraged to be the first to empty my glass in one go before anyone else could down their own. I was becoming proficient by this time and I welcomed the warmth the alcohol induced.

Back out to the stove where there was now a big lidded bowl boiling away. As the lid was lifted steam escaped and hidden under the vapor was a lot of offal. I mean liver, lung, heart, intestines. The doctors pointed out all the various organs, quite good at their anatomy, for dinner I was told. A few had gathered away from the wind in the van and I was called over too. Not wanting to offend and honestly glad to be out of the wind, I climbed in too. Just as well, because the car started up and we were away back to the camp. I was glad we had left the offal behind. But not so lucky, because it reappeared on the dinner table.

Overlooking Selenge River

Monument to Chinggis Chan's first wife made from Mongolian marble

Back street of Sukhbaatar

Kids will be kids

Where's Wally in the forest

Driving into Sukhbaatar

By day six, (3 days AS), I was rather pleased with myself that I hadn’t caused an international incident. I just hope my country appreciates what I did for it. Friday was closing ceremony, we would be finished by eleven o’clock and were again given matching red t-shirts. I was expecting to gather at the front of the hospital but, surprise, into the cars and to the City Civic Centre. This turned out to be a much bigger affair, the whole auditorium full of flag waving, uniform wearing senior citizens. There were speeches (of course) that I timed because I was bored. Seven in total with an average time of sixteen and a half minutes. When that was over, it was outside to more speeches, the brass band and a parade of the flag waving senior citizens who disappeared down the street.

Although our departure had originally been planned for Sunday, midweek this was changed to Saturday and I have to say that by then, I was ready for home. Saturday was sightseeing day. Of course I wasn't told of the plans for the day, it was just go with the flow (again). But I did know we were going to see The Mother Tree. As we made our way off the black road, just about every tree was adorned with a khadag, all colours, the silk scarf’s blowing in the breeze. Driving between the trees on a dusty road it was like we were in the valley of the khadag. A few bumps later, we were at The Mother Tree, which really looked like a pile of different coloured silk, dripping with a creamy white coating.

Before ducking our heads at the cubby hole entrance in the fence that appeared to be made of blocks of compressed grass, we were handed a bag of grain and a small carton of milk. I was told to follow what everyone else did. Getting closer, it was obvious the creamy white coating was milk soured in the sun. We walked around the tree, throwing grain and milk over the fallen tree trunk. Incense was lit and there was a mat surrounded with silk scarves where you could kneel and whisper your wishes down into the roots of the tree. There was an abundance of bird life feeding on the sprinkled grains and wasps hovered over candy and biscuits left on an alter as offerings. I was told that Mongolians come here to worship, having a mix of Tibetan Buddhism and  Shamanism.

"And for Christmas I want....."

We gathered in our convoy of cars again and I wrongly assumed we were heading back to camp to head home. I am glad I was wrong. We took off to a spot near the Russian border where two rivers meet. We climbed what seemed like a mountain to take in the most spectacular view. I raised my camera but was told no, first we had to have a drink, vodka of course and speeches. Here we also ate a picnic lunch, all provided by the hospital, they were gracious hosts.

Another round of drinks

I did get to take photos, the most beautiful panoramic view. The rivers wound around autumn coloured trees and the last railway station before Russia punctuated the line. Horses grazed next to a farmhouse in the distance and cows formed a conga line through a field. Birds caught the thermals on the edge of the cliffs and I just soaked it all in thinking "how lucky am I". I wonder what it will all look like under snow. Family groups of Mongolians shared the spot with us and paid homage at the ovoo (pile of stones) on the top of the path.

Walking around the Ovoo for good luck

Then it was back to camp...and lunch. Our departure was delayed until the next day because at 4pm, it was too late to travel the black road back to UB in the dark. It was an early start in the morning, so an early night.

Up at 5.30 and eventually on the road at 7. The advantage being that I got to see the countryside waking up. The hills have the sweeping look of sand-dunes and in a shallow valley was a ger, the smoke from their fire just hanging in the sky above, unmoved by wind. I thought that if it wasn't for the power lines running over the hill, it could be a scene from the last centuries. As we moved around a hill, I was brought back to modern day with a herder on a motorbike taking his goats out to graze. Goats are a popular herd, their coats producing the valuable cashmere wool. This has become a bit of an environmental issue for the country with the over grazing of grasslands.

Farmers were working hard at this time to gather grass to store as winter feed. During the harsh winter, known as zuds, herders can loose most of their animals because of lack of feed. Once cut, small piles of harvested grass are left on hillsides before it is collected. Utes, about the size of a Hilux, are hidden under the mobile haystack as it is taken back for storage.

Several stops on the way home are a chance for a toilet break, chat and sips of vodka for some. All to soon there is more traffic on the road, the air is clouded with pollution and the countryside turns into the city. But at least I am home safe and sound, ready first for a hug from James then a l.o.n.g hot shower and a meal of veggies. Tonight I will be in my own bed.