I Learnt Something Today - Again

As you travel around the city and countryside you see evidence that Mongolia is steeped in tradition and beliefs. Some things are obvious, like entering a ger and moving to the left, passing something to another with two hands, or grabbing someone’s hand after you have accidentally stepped on their feet. But the pretty part of their tradition comes in the form of coloured silk scarfs that can hang from statues, bridges or ceremonial poles that sit in the centre of a pile of stones.

These scarfs are called Khadags and until today, when I read a newspaper article, I didn’t realise the significance. I have seen them in different settings and have always been drawn to both their mysticism and their colourful beauty.  The sudden splash of colour on the landscape or a city bridge has something of a draw.

To quote the newspaper article they “symbolise purity, goodwill, auspiciousness and compassion”. They are given as a gift and can represent any occasion, weddings, funerals, births, graduations, arrivals or departures. And I guess they are pretty affordable. The Dali Lama is known to offer Khadags (known as hadas in Tibet) as gifts to diplomats, visitors and other monks. When given to monks, they take the scarf then place it back on the worshipers neck to keep as a sign of good luck.

They are made of silk and here, they mainly seem to be blue, although I have seen other colours.  Khadags seem to be of different lengths, I am not sure why and some are designed with words or pictures.

Again my trusty newspaper article gives me more information about the vibrant colours of the khadags. White khadags represent the purity of the heart and soul and the ever present milk, which is a staple of the Mongolian diet. This colour khadag is usually given to very highly respected older people and is often offered to government officers.

The blue Khadag is representative of the sky and seems to be the most common colour used. It is this colour that I have seen most around the city, tied to statues or bridges. It is the colour offered to anyone you respect and given when greeting someone who is younger.

The yellow Khadag is a symbol of knowledge and religion, so is often given to teachers.

Red and green Khadags are never used for greeting, but more to signify religious rituals. The red is a symbol of fire and the green represents Mother earth.

It is this mix of colour that I have seen atop piles of stones (called Ovoo) in the countryside. There, on the top of green hills have been shines, scarfs tied on a totem pole that reaches high. Shamanistic ritual has it that when you approach one of these shrines, you walk around it three times before adding your own stone to the pile.

 

I Googled Ovoo, and it talks about the shrines and the custom of leaving offerings on the pile of stones. I had noticed paper cups, empty vodka or soft drink bottled and plastic icons, on a few occasions, crutches laid on the stones. Tucked amongst these have been the blue scarfs. Google says to stop there on a journey ensures a safe passage but if you are in a hurry, just honk the horn.

I have seen the khadags in Teralj, on my quite walk when I felt like I was the only person on the planet. I had walked up a hill and found an ovoo being worshiped by cows and yaks, their heads bowed as they munched on the grass. They looked up for a moment, I guess wondering what I was doing, puffing as I climbed. 

Then when I took off down the hill, I followed the edge of the river till I came to a large open space. The rubbish and empty vodka bottles left by previous visitors confirmed that I wasn’t the only person on the planet. At the other end of this footy oval size clearing was a big grandfather tree. It’s trunk was wrapped in bands of silk, a rainbow red, yellow, white, green and blue. There was obviously some significance to this spot. A string of blue khadags formed a broken fence, maybe the cows had been down here. 

In the quite, I went closer, hoping I wasn’t activating some curse for treading sacred ground, but drawn by curiosity. The tree was holding these scarfs, almost for warmth, against the wind. The few that were on its branches, dangled in the breeze. I walked around it and took photos, then just stood and looked. It sort of held me there. I wondered who had decorated this big old tree with broken branches. Why this tree, did this spot have significance. Guess I will never know, the cows weren’t interested and there was no one else to ask.

The culture here has lots to teach, the respect for land and ancestors, superstitions supporting this. I would love to learn and experience more. Although my newspaper article had spawned my need to know more, I am not sure that I will trust this English publication more that I would trust Google. Because, before writing this I went looking for more information. And what I found was almost word for word my reference article. Although written by a Mongolian, they too rely on Google for facts. Perhaps he would have done better to as his grandmother.

Felt in Mongolia

I think it has been stated before, it gets bloody cold in this country. The Mongolians have worked out the best ways to keep warm, from burning anything that ignites, to wrapping themselves in whatever nature provides.

We discovered that the traditional gers are made of nothing more than canvas and felt, but provide fantastic warmth and protection from the cold winds of the steppes. The felt that is wrapped around the walls of the gers is made of local wool. Traditionally, in the manufacture of this felt, horses were used to drag the bundles of felt at speed. The lengths of felt were wrapped around a stick which was dragged behind the horse, bouncing and producing the kneading action on the fabric, which helps to bind and matte up the fibres into thick felt.

The shops here sell felt in all colours and conformations, from bags, hats, scarfs and boots. You can get felt coats or key rings, jewellery or slippers.  I was keen to learn the art and create something for myself. I had heard of an artist who did workshops, and with a few friends, booked a session.

We had the bus number, photos of the destination (emailed with directions) and Google maps, we were prepared for our outing to the dusty outer suburbs of Ulaanbaatar and the studio where we would learn new skills. Maira, our teacher for the day, met us at the bus-stop with her two children and we took the short walk to her studio. Maira is only working part-time at present because she is expecting her third child in the winter. She is so warm and friendly and instantly made us welcome.

I was like a kid in a candy shop, all these beautiful pieces of work that she had for sale, but I would get into that before I left. Now, we were going to create our own masterpieces. Maira uses Mongolian Merino, top quality she tells us as we choose from a rack of rainbow colours. Too many choices. 

We were each given a piece of shaped, plastic bubble wrap, appropriate for our foot size, sort of the shape of a horse shoe. I had no idea how this was going to become a pair of slippers but I was full of trust for the master.  The two colours we had chosen were for the inside and the outside of the slippers. I was being a bit “out there” and had red and purple. I had to put a layer of purple wool covering the plastic shape. Easy…

Next came the hot water sprinkled from a bottle with holes in the lid. A second layer was placed with the fibres going in the opposite direction. Carefully, the plastic shape covered with wool was flipped over, edges tucked in and the process repeated. There was lots of tucking, wetting and pressing before we got to use the second colour, and a repetition of the purple layer. I still couldn’t work out how this one shape was going to make two slippers, but I had faith.

We then got to add decoration. A friend who had done this before had given advise of going with a design in mind, but I hadn’t, so I just played till I came up with something. Of course I liked everyone else’s design better than mine. I worked trying to make it perfect, but was reminded by Maira that this is a hand made product, it shouldn’t be perfect. So that is my excuse. Maira’s 5 year old daughter told her mum she liked mine, that made me feel better.

Now we needed to start “felting”, I thought that was what we had been doing. The woolly shape was covered with a net fabric and out came the soap. Maira said it was Russian soap, so it won’t dry our hands. Like kindy kids finger painting, we lathered up our hands and started rubbing, first on the edges then in the middle. Maira’s daughter dragged up a chair and came to my aid, I had an obviously well experienced helper.

 

This “felting” process went on for about 10 minutes before we had to start the kneading. No horses here, we had to do it hand and this proved to be hard work. There was lots of rolling and unrolling, pushing and squeezing. The next bit was when I had the light-bulb moment. Maira picked up a pair of shears and snipped into by wool. As she cut down the centre she dragged out the plastic pattern and my one shape became two slippers. There were my slippers, purple on the inside and red on the outside. Taa daaa… But they looked HUGE.

 

Eventually (and thankfully) Maira said it was time for the washing machine…yeah. The boots were put into the machine and we retired for a well earned and delicious lunch.

I couldn’t help but think that we were sharing a tradition that has spanned generations of Mongolians. Women gathered to produce clothes that will keep us warm through the harsh winter, all around a work area, gossiping and laughing and then, just when we need a rest, retiring for meal of steaming traditional foods.  Maira had learnt her art from her grandmother who was a traditional Kazakh felter, making rugs and selling them to supplement the family income. I wonder if Maira’s daughter, who shows an interest, will continue the tradition.

As the washing machine finished, so did our lunch and we were back in the workroom to see how things were going.  While we had been kneading we thought our slippers were slowly shrinking but what came out of the machine was something less like the boots of the Jolly Green Giant, and something a little more akin to Cinderella (if she was Mongolian and living in a cold climate requiring something more than glass to keep her feet warm). The colours had faded and melded, so what started as “out there” is a more muted tone.

I am absolutely delighted with the result, and so proud of the fact that I made them myself. We have all decided we want rubber soles for durability, so have left them at the workshop for the finishing touches. But of course, there was the showroom with other delights for sale, how could I resist. I have come home with a beautiful scarf that will see me happy in winter. And I have decide to go back and do it all again, it was so much fun. 

P.S.  Maira sells some of her craft at the Fine Arts Museum here in UB and she does have a website www.feltmongolia.mn Unfortunately, she is having trouble selling her wares internationally because of the laws regarding money coming into Mongolia, they don’t have paypal. If any of our friends see something on the website that you would like, that is an original hand made product, let me know and I will see if I can arrange something. I’m sure I can negotiate a price too.  

Well.....

I had just finished writing my last email about my fun Friday with an ambulance ride to the immigration office, and James came home.

So I decided to show him my photo-shopped passport photos and went on a hunt for my little cloth purse. In this little cloth purse, with Kazak designs stitched on it, was - a small amount of cash, my keys to the office, a pen and my new lipstick. Oh and my passport. The last time I can remember seeing, it was sitting on my lap in the ambulance. I checked and it wasn't in the ambulance, I went up the corner and, even though I don't think the lady understood me, it hadn't been handed in at the bank, or any of the small shops. I'm thinking BUGGER, I've lost my lipstick. Oh and my passport.

I phoned the consulate to report it and got a phone call back from the Acting Consulate General, the real guy is on holidays. (Pity I could have used my 'contacts')  He said he would have to cancel his evenings arrangements and get onto Canberra to cancel my passport straight away, but he wasn't worried at all about my lipstick. BUGGER. Then my phone rang again and he said it was OK, Canberra said I can wait to Monday. Thank God I had been to Immigration today and sorted my alien card because I certainly couldn't do that without a passport.

We weren't going to spoil the night, we headed off on the bus to the British Embassy for a few drinks with friends. Half way into my first gin and tonic, this guy came up and introduced himself as the Acting Consular General of Australia. I sheepishly introduced myself and I could read this look of "So you're the silly bugger who lost their passport" Anyway, he was really nice about it and we chatted away. Later in the evening we were chatting to the British Consular General and he was talking about "the minor diplomatic incident" that had delayed the arrival of the Australian guy. OOOps, that was me....

When we left we headed to the bus stop and saw our bus approaching. As we made our way to the door, four guys surrounded James and pushed him on to the bus. I sang out "watch out for your wallet" as the front guy then turned and pushed James back and off the bus. They literally rolled him off the bus then took off. Fortunately James is in one piece, if not a little dusty, and still has his wallet and phone. I should have asked them if they had seen my lipstick.

So, Monday will be a fun day too, probably spending half of it getting a new passport and lipstick. But this is Mongolia and these "minor diplomatic incidents' gives me something to write about.

Now I'm not sure if I want another Friday.

Cheers

di

Hi Everyone,

Back at work today after my short trip over the border to China. I traveled by the Trans Siberian Railway, through the Southern Gobi and into a little city in China called Erlian. It was a great few days, I got my new visa and it was back to work today.

I was wondering if we might do a little more weeding this afternoon, but when I walked in this morning, I couldn't see any of the troublesome weeds that we had to pull out. We did such a good job last Friday. But I only made it to lunch time, because now that I have my new visa, I can apply for an alien card. Sounds rather weird doesn't it.

I had a phone call from the Foreign Relations Officer (a really nice young doctor with great English) and she said we could go to the Immigration Office this afternoon. I realised then that even if there was some gardening to do I'd miss out because the Immigration Office is about 45 minutes from town, depending on traffic. Gerlee, the F.R.O, would arrange transport. I had to meet her at the back entrance to the hospital.

When I got there our carriage awaited .... the hospital ambulance. I questioned what if someone needs it, but it seems that they didn't think that was a possibility, so we piled in. I had this secret urge to say I wanted to ride in the back, but I suppressed it. So, off we went, stopping so I could have passport photos on the way. I had to submit one on the immigration form and the girl did a nice job of photo-shopping. The advantage of traveling in an emergency vehicle is that when the traffic got thick, the driver just hit the siren. Love it.  So when I say 45 minute trip, that is if you aren't in an ambulance.

Mind you, it was pretty sparse inside. A stretcher, oxygen bottle and first aid kit, and I was told it was very well equipped. I had a sudden thought, hope we don't come across an accident, I wouldn't know what to do.

At the Immigration Office it was lots of forms to fill and numbers to give. Then I had to have another photo. You should see the photo they took, then you would know why it says "alien". This followed by fingerprints, in case I do something wrong I guess.

All done now and all I have to do is wait for my card to arrive. And, to wait with bated breath for next Friday, wonder what the next surprise will be.

Cheers

Di

Hello Everyone,

I just have to share my Friday at work here in UB.

I had to be at work early for a "nurses meeting" at 7.30 so headed to the bus stop. Along came bus 21, it slowed but kept going. I felt this wasn't a good start to Friday. No to worry, hailed a taxi by standing on the side of the road and waving my hand till any random car that was going my way stopped. Got to work in time to change into my smart white coat and spiffy white shoes (locally purchased).

Got to the meeting, which started the traditional 15 minutes late. It was all conducted in Mongolian and I think was about statistics. I got the feeling that PC (Palliative Care) didn't score well because the head nurse made lots of angry noises and sat with her arms folded across her chest. While discussion was still ongoing, suddenly everyone stood up and left. Maybe the conversation was getting too heated.

Anyway, I spent most of my day with Yuki, a delightful volunteer nurse from Japan. Fortunately she speaks English and Mongolian (smartty pants) so sometimes translates for me. She is based in the Head and Neck surgical ward which is a unit much improved on the area I work in. I get the feeling Palliative Care is the poor cousin. They even have soap and hand towel in the staff toilet. But it is still locked. (Our staff toilet has been locked for 4 days now because they have lost the key) Yuki did a lecture for nurses, which was interesting to sit in on. She did it in Japanese with a Mongolian powerpoint with a translator. I didn't understand a word but the  pictures were pretty. It was Yuki's birthday so we had cake, horshoor (a yummy Mongolian meat pastry) and salty milk tea for lunch.

After lunch I returned to the 'PC' ward where there was lots of chatter with my name, lavender and wash sprinkled through the conversation. Some very precious lavender oil from Australia has been a remarkable hit and is used any time a patient needs a wash by the nurses (usually the job of the family, but if they feel someone is particularly dirty the paramedical aid goes in and scrubs). So I assumed that was what they were saying. Something as simple as lavender is giving great pleasure and helping to add a little pampering for a few.

I did suggest to the head nurse (through a translator) that I would like to design a Nurse Assessment tool for use by the nurses. I had noticed that when patients are admitted there is no assessment done by the nurses, for that matter, no ongoing assessment either. Her reply was "the doctor does it". I  pushed on saying the nurses tend the patient more closely (even if it is just medications and vital signs) and that they could provide the doctor with more comprehensive information if they knew what to look for, maybe I had said it wrong the first time. "But the doctor does it". There is a very strong hierarchy.

Again the word lavender was mentioned as everyone was donning the blue gown, hats, gloves and masks that are worn for any patient contact. One of the nurses pointed out the window and said wash. I thought maybe she wanted to grow lavender in the garden, a constant supply. So, because I seem to have become an important part of this patient hygiene, I too was encouraged to dressed up. I am surprised at how quickly this has now become second nature. But this time everyone was dressed up, doctor, head nurse, ward nurses and paramedical aid. I thought maybe interesting new patient.

Like a sheep I followed, ...out of the ward. Maybe going to another ward? In the corridor we met Tamir, the only English speaking staff in 'PC'. They said something to him, he looked at me and said "You are all going out to clean the yard". I said "You're kidding me, right?" "No, for sure, everyone, doctors and nurses are going to clean the garden". Thank god I was wearing a mask because all I could do was laugh. Nobody would believe me (so I took photos). When we got down stairs a good proportion of the hospital staff were at the front of the building pulling weeds. Sure enough Tamir was right, doctors, nurses, theatre staff, kitchen staff, all doing their bit. On my first visit to the hospital, my Mongolian co-ordinator had said to me "look at the beautiful grass" which was all weeds, guess just what we don't cultivate.

The head nurse and the doctor surveyed a little patch that was ours and away we went. I was quite happy till I found out I was pulling the wrong weeds "No No Diana", to me they are all weeds. But what a hoot. There were all these blue gowned, paper hatted people bobbing about in knee high weeds while visitors sat on bench seats and watched. Every now and then I would just laugh. Thank heaven for the families who stayed with the patients in the wards. Yuki assured me they don't do this in Japan. Thing is, as soon as someone visits on the ward, they have to buy plastic shoe covers, because their shoes are dirty. We were all out there in our ward shoes.

But what a nice way to finish off a Friday, enjoying the warm sun out among nature. I think it is a practice that western hospitals should employ, Daw House has a big garden. Trouble is now I'm home and could really do with a nice hot soak in the bath after my gardening, our hot water is turned off till mid August for pipe maintenance, bugger, it's a cold shower.

So now, it is kick back, a coffee (or stronger) before our little Aussie expat get together to celebrate a bit of National Pride and await the Olympics. And fortunately I will be in China next Friday sorting my visa, so no more weed pulling.

Cheers

Di

Teralj - Take 2

Gee this country is beautiful.
I have just had another weekend in the countryside, this time with James. Another group of volunteers have arrived from Australia and they were going to Teralj for a short stay. So, with James going into golfing withdrawals, we traveled along with them.
We set off Saturday morning and were a little way out of town when we joined a line of cars, a traffic jam which seemed to go as far as the eye could see. Our driver, being resourceful, decided to take another road. This meant us having to return to the city, so we had a good look around. We didn't realise that what usually takes about an hour and a half, would take us closer to six.
We traveled through what I think was a national park reasonably close to the city. Here we noticed several shrines. Of course we stopped and all got out and took photos, it was a really beautiful spot to have such colorful memorials to those you love. Apparently, it is custom to hold a stone and walk around the shrine about nine times, then drop your stone on the pile. The pole is covered with lengths of fabric which catch the wind. It really is beautiful and peaceful.

We were traveling along in a minibus, about 10 of us piled in. The driver seemed to know where he was going until we went to exit the park and the guy at the boom-gate didn't look as though he was going to let us get past. Seemed this track was restricted to shorter vehicles because we had to pass under a railway bridge. Anyway, we went bumping on and the cry from one of the girls was "I should have worn my sports bra". It really was a rough ride. This track was much more suited to a four wheel drive, not a ten seater minibus.
We got to the bridge and the driver got out. The spare tyre had been on a roof-rack, but that was put to the side while James made sure the roof didn't scrape. Cows were sent plodding through the mud to make room for us. A cheer went out when we got to the other side unscratched.

When we eventually got to our destination, James was keen to check out the golf course. I think he was a little disappointed. This morning, while I went horse-riding (yep that's right) James had a round of golf. I phoned him half way through and I won't repeat his comments. Needless to say, he isn't in  a rush to go back.
Apart from a few minor horse-riding mishaps, it was a fantastic afternoon. We rode horses through the river to where the land opened up and was so beautiful, so peaceful, so pristine.

We rode for two hours, stopping at one stage to visit a ger where we had yogurt and milky tea. The visit wasn't planned but we were made so welcome, the Mongolians known for their hospitality. It looks like a simple life, but imagine waking up to such scenery every morning.

Some of the group looked more comfortable on horses that others, but we had a fantastic afternoon. Once the horses were pointed toward home, they looked a little happier. We crossed the river again and had to travel in single file as we went through the trees. The horses were more comfortable in going up a rather steep hill than I was, but we got to the top of the hill and the hotel was in sight. The saddles didn't have a lot to hold on to and the horses manes weren't long enough to grab in an emergency, so it was rather risky business. And the horses don't seem to realise that they are short and fit under trees easily, not taking into account the rider, so there was lots of ducking.
But we were back and had to think about heading back to the city...what a shame.

Too soon we were back in the city, but we have decided that we will be back, but next time in the winter so we can experience a winter wonderland.

Naadam Mania

We weren’t quite sure what to expect. We had read about it and we knew it is a very significant time on the Mongolian calendar. We sensed the excitement building as the days got closer and knew something was happening because everything started to slow down in anticipation of the holiday. Naadam is a festival celebrated all over Mongolia, always at this time of year and is one of two big national holidays.

Getting tickets for the stadium events proved a little harder than we expected. Excuses were that it was an election year, everyone wanted tickets, that the queues were longer than expected, they were only selling two tickets at a time. So when James’ contacts said they had tickets for the three days of events at local prices, we were rather chuffed.  Scalpers were out on the streets at night a few days before and as we walked up to the stadium, there were still tickets being pulled from plastic bags. Guess we were foreigners so they figured we would be prepared to part with extra cash for the once in a life-time show.

It was with excitement that we walked 3 kms through the drizzle following lots of others making the pilgrimage. It was like the Royal Show, lots of things to see outside the arena, sideshow alley, food stalls only selling traditional foods, kids with balloons and a block of portable toilets that I avoided.

 

Lots of people were dressed for the occasion, couples wearing matching dels. A del is like a coat, either lighter fabric for summer or heavier for winter. They are at least calf length and tied at the waist with a sash. It’s common to see older people wearing them about the streets, generally older gentlemen with bowed legs, Stetson hats and riding boots or older ladies, also bow legged, but with high heel shoes, scalf tied around there neck and sun hat on their heads. But for Naadam, there was a display of Sunday best, brand new dels out for the occasion. Most were happy to stop and pose for a photo.

Once inside, we found our seats, dried off the water then sat and waited for it all to begin. It looked a little disorganised with people in different uniforms and costumes all mingling together, but eventually they made their way to different parts of the of the arena and the band struck up a tune. The procession started with soldiers in ceremonial dress astride beautiful white horses leading the way. They carried poles topped with gold bands and white horse hair that caught the breeze. These poles are referred to as flags and are quite significant in the culture. They are called “Yoson Kholt Tsagaan Tug” or Nine White Banners. During war black ones are displayed but these white ones are a sign of peace and democracy and live in the parliament. The nine poles were placed in a circular stand and were guarded ceremoniously by soldiers before being returned to parliament after the closing ceremony.

Standing Guard Over the Flags

The Opening Ceremony was a little like the opening of the Olympics with displays of dance and costumes, all significant in some way and all states of Mongolia represented. There was Kazak dancing, lots of acknowledging of the gods, a Buddhist monk, pop singers and the Mongolian Olympic team doing a lap of honour. And all done in a language that we had no idea what they were saying, but the spectacle was fantastic. The music stirred the soul and you couldn’t help but get mixed up in the pride of the nation.

Enter the Cauldron

Kazakh Dancers

Singing the National Anthem

Naadam Stadium Opening Ceremony

Mongolian Olympic Team

All the speeches done, the banners rolled away and the oval cleared, out came the wrestlers. The main sports of Naadam are wrestling, horse riding and archery, all talents deemed as important from years back. So this is really serious stuff, with drug testing stations and the winner acquiring immense status in the community, as well as rewards of cash and cars.

The strolled out, did their stretches and adjusted their rather skimpy outfits. The tops were really just sleeves, joined with fabric at the back and a string tied around their ample bellies. And the bottoms were like budgie smugglers. They were either red or blue and embroidered with a check pattern in places. Their heads were topped with a little cap made of velvet, looking very Mongolian. The art of wrestling is ingrained with ceremony. When the wrestler comes out, he jogs over to the guy who is his “corner”, puts his arms up pretending to be an eagle, flies around him a little, then the corner guy takes his cap. The wrestler then jogs over to the stand with the Nine White Banners and does a circle of that, pretending to be an eagle. I had a quiet giggle, not wanting to offend anyone and start a riot. But did this guy know how silly he looked. I mean, he is a moving advertisement for Jenny Craig but flapped around pretending to be a bird like he was on Play School. But like I said, this is big bucks, so guess I’d do it too. 

Anyway, he goes back into the middle and picks on a guy by grabbing his budgie smuggles while squatting nose to nose with him. They do a little dance like two crabs circling in the sand, until eventually one trips the other over. The winner is the one who fell on top of the other guy. He gets up, flaps his wings again and takes off to the Nine White Banners, curtseys to they, then goes back and gets his hat and jogs off of the oval. I don’t know how they score or why some big guys were fighting some much smaller guys, but this went on for about two days. There obviously are grades because in the paper were results talking about the grand eagle, the grand lion and lots of other ferocious animals.

When we went back the second day, we spent some time watching the archery, at least I could understand what the aim was there. They shot arrows down a field and had to knock over some little wicker baskets at the other end. I could see the skill in this. But at the other end were some silly buggers standing next to the little wicker baskets, wouldn’t get me doing that. Although, the tip of the arrow was a lump of fiber-glass, but still, it would hurt. When they hit the baskets, they would wave their arms up, when they missed, their arms were down. These men and ladies must have a good deal of strength, they would tremble with tension as they pulled the string back.

Archery Competitors

Archery Field

Target

 

There was another lesser known sport played, using the ankle bones of sheep. (I have my own issues with ankle bones, but I put my fear aside and investigated) It was called Ankle Bone Shooting. I call them knucklebones, like we used to play with as kids. But these are flicked at a target while a group of fellows sat in a circle. They had to flick the bone so that it landed in a box, knocking out another bone. It was all done ceremoniously with chanting and tossing the bone to each other before it is launched toward the box. Again, I don’t understand the rules, but they looked like they were having fun.

Shooting Ankle Bones

We had put two of the three days behind up, and the third day was the most girly. The paper had said it started at 10 am, so we were in the square early. But, as is the way with information here, that wasn’t correct. The procession of national costumes didn’t start till 12 but it gave us plenty of time to look around (and enough time for me to dash to the Chinese Embassy in pursuit of a visa…a very long story). It seemed like every second person in the crowd had really dressed for the occasion. Mongolians are quite fashion conscious and when you see their national costumes, it is easy to see where that comes from. They are stunning, so beautifully embellished and in all colours of the rainbow. And it was young and old, all so proud to display their best outfits.

The procession was arranged in regions, so there was a sense of competitiveness to be the best dressed. They strolled along in groups, smiling and waving. Every now and then the procession would slow or stop, so we had a good look. I had the camera ready and these fashion models were quite keen to strike a pose so I could snap a million photos. When they stopped, someone would call out to the crowd and hands would be shook and a chat catching up on news. It was such a happy, friendly atmosphere with lots of laughs. 

Kazakh Family

Blue Sky Tower and Sukhbaatar Square

Just at the end of the procession, the rain started. It was almost as if the clouds had waited to the end. But it didn’t dampen the enthusiasm of the crowd. While we retreated to higher ground (a restaurant on the third floor of a nearby building), everyone popped up a brolly and stood in the rain to watch the catwalk while prizes were given for the best dressed. It was a great end to fantastic festival that I am so glad we were here to see. The party atmosphere is ongoing, the shops still closed and I think the vodka sampled. But, how lucky are we to be a part of such national pride.