IN THE STEPPES OF GENGHIS KHAN
"Ocean of desolate steppes and windy deserts, Centuries-old forests and high snow-capped mountains, Mongolia offers itself untouched to the traveler's eye
On this land of boundless horizons, The wind of the plains blends with the blue of the sky To create Impressionist paintings
Fleeting as light is the rider's passage on the track, Ephemeral is the stability of the yurt in the heart of the hill Mongolia deserves... and lets its splendor be discovered... Slowly...step by step According to encounters and the whims of its climate"
THE FIRST NIGHT IN THE STEPPES OF GENGHIS KHAN
Through addresses found at the independent travelers' association of which we are members, we had decided to rent a jeep already from Switzerland, because our arrival in Ulaanbaatar planned for the first day of Naadam would not have allowed us to do research on the spot. After enjoying the three days of Naadam (Mongolians gather on the occasion of the national holiday to watch their three manly and favorite games: archery, wrestling, horse racing) the time had come to leave for the steppe in the footsteps of Genghis Khan. The owner of the guest house, who by the way had given us her own apartment due to lack of space, had recommended being ready by 7:00. By 6:00 we were already watching from the window for the arrival of the jeep, but everything was silent in that purely Soviet-style neighborhood of Ulaanbaatar.
Around 7:30 they came to inform us of problems found with the jeep, so the departure was postponed by a few hours. Time passed, it had reached 16:00 and we risked being late for our appointment with Genghis Khan... While waiting, we decided to reconfirm the return flights, visit the capital again, and chat with the travelers at the guest house, some of them veterans of long bicycle trips from France. Suddenly, the driver appears and without time to realize it we left the capital; after just a few kilometers the steppe stretches out to infinity with breathtaking and splendid landscapes, all of it almost at dusk giving an even more mysterious note to the steppe. Mejet, the driver, spoke little of Shakespeare's language, and knowing we were late we didn't dare ask him to stop at every step to take photos.
Our eyes tried to register every landscape, every face encountered, every animal grazing... The beauty of the steppe had already won us over, made our hearts beat faster and put all our senses on alert. At a stop to observe and photograph an ovoo (ovoos, symbols of good luck, are votive mounds to which travelers tie strips of blue cloth or money or place a stone or other objects to ask for protection; the practice of erecting ovoos was forbidden during communism and today is being reborn), I asked where we would sleep and at the answer "under a yurt" I understood I had found the driver suited to our needs, to our desire to share local life; in fact, travelers we met told us they had never had the opportunity to sleep in a ger, only in tourist camps. Around 21:00 Mejet suddenly changed direction, and in that ocean where the shorn grass is sole queen we wondered where we were headed...
About ten minutes later a yurt appeared before us, the only living form in that immeasurable desert. Mongolians have an exceptional sense of direction; they navigate by observing the various shapes of the mountains, dunes, plains and streams encountered. We were welcomed by a kind young family with two small children. As a sign of welcome they offered us a large bowl of fermented mare's milk, the famous airag which Mongolians mainly live on, they can drink up to five liters a day. After a Mongolian dinner of cheeses and their excellent soup, the lady of the house showed us where we could settle for the night, that is, on the side opposite the entrance, the place of honor for welcome guests. A bit lost, dressed, we lay down on our sleeping bags; above my head a tray full of various cheeses left to dry to constitute the winter provisions.
Slowly, life in the yurt began to quiet down, the children fell asleep in the beds placed to the East and West of the ger, the lady of the house took care of the last milking of the mares and then turned the milk into airag. Later the husband arrived from the steppe and, tired, threw his saddle in a corner of the yurt, like we do with car keys, kissed his Lady and noticed us, greeted us with his eyes, not at all surprised to find us there, in his home. This is Mongolian hospitality... A few moments later it began to rain, and through the opening at the top of the yurt, which serves as a window, you could glimpse the stripes of lightning in the sky, the sparkling of the stars and the rain falling, without a single drop entering the ger... Mongolian magic...
and hand in hand, our minds filled with magical and fantastic memories and emotions, dreaming of our future encounter with Genghis Khan, sleep took us in its arms...
Graziella (angy8@bluewin.ch) The driver can be contacted in English at: mejet69@yahoo.com or
practical information at:
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