Thursday, July 10, 2008

home mani padme home

The title of this post is a pun on the Buddhist chant OM MANI PADME (paymay) HUNG,
which translates something like: the jewel in the heart of the lotus.These lotuses are blooming in 4 pots on the rooftop terrace of our hotel in Beijing.

I took these photos the morning of the evening that I found out that the fires that had been threatening my home land and which had been considered 100% contained had kicked up again, carried by strong winds.
It is unknown at this time whether any of the cabins on our 50 acres still stand. It is unlikely.
So, we are heading home.
The thing about the lotus is that it is this exquisitely beautiful flower that grows out of the mud.  Thus the imagery. Even mud can give rise to beauty. Even  catastrophe can give rise to...?

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I'm not sure why the following copies of the photos got included in this post, but I guess you can't have too many images of lotuses.










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Tuesday, July 8, 2008

back to yin yang bus adventure

Here is some of the fancy trim that the women put on jackets for their men. This is Uranchimeg's husband driving us to and across the river on his ox-cart. SS The last day of the Terelj Park trip was for me the best, mostly because we were leaving, but also I made friends with Mr. Bolt and we had fun chopping wood, smoking cigarettes and hanging out after the younger guys worked the horses.
I must say that the ger-to-ger adventure was not all bad It's just that my personality is such that I don't like imposing. In China everyone makes you feel like they want you there and are glad that you came. In Mongolia you don't get that feeling. Now here, we were supposed to stay with folks on their land, eat food prepared by them,carry on obligitory conversations about how old you are and what your hobbies are, and all for what? A couple of shekels in their pockets? It seemed demeaning to me and many of their friends thought so as well. Soooooo I was glad to leave. Chacha I think had a much better time.
Our last Ger stay was only 2km from the bus stop that takes us back to Ulaanbaator, we were to have lunch with a woman and her husband then ox cart to the bus stop. Just as we arrive at their Ger another of the weeks thunder storms hits and we are forced to stay inside the leaky Ger for about 4 hours. During this time the small T.V. is playing a Mongolian soap opera. We eat a lovely meal of fried potatoes and carrots, we (I) drink more milk-tea. At some point the husband changes the channel and gets the local news station. There on the screen, in the leaky Ger with the wood stove belching white smoke from the wet wood being burned, we see images of UB (ulaanbaator) in a state of protest. There are tens of thousands of people shouting, there is a heavy police presence, protesters being beaten with batons, bullet holes in the front door of a building. Communication with our hosts is barren but we do understand that what we are seeing is live. We can see the main square where the protest is taking place is only about three blocks from our Hostel, we walk past the square almost everyday when in UB.
The ox cart ride to the bus is pleasant, the bus ride out of the park as the sun is setting against the giant white cumulus clouds is spectacular, but the uneasy feeling that we are headed right into the middle of an angry protest is unsettling. Just outside the boundary of the city we see many police, the bus driver is asked to get off the bus twice and is asked questions by the police. At one point as we near the city a trio of young people board and sit next to us near the back of the bus, one of them has a battery powered T.V. which they are all watching, the volume is high enough that the sound of gunshots can be heard (we learned later these were rubber bullets). To add to the suspense, we had no idea where the bus was going to let us off. For Chacha, her worst nightmare is to have a dental emergency in a third world country, for me it is to be caught in that same country during social unrest (I have no resources).
The last stop was within half-mile from our Hostel and most people on the street seemed to be going about their business as usual so we hoofed it quickly back to the safety of Zayah our Russian/Mongolian landlady. That night, fueled by looted alcohol and pent up rage the protesters burned the Communists Headquarters down and at least 5 people were killed more that 400 wounded in the ensuing battle with police. The Government response was to institute a curfew, during that curfew we were surrounded by Army and Police. The curfew was lifted during the day so we could get a taxi to the airport.
Mongolia is a beautiful place. The people are proud, but lack the tools for 21st century living. They have much to share with the rest of the world, we can only hope they don't self destruct, for it is natural that the vultures will feast.

love
boomboom

Monday, July 7, 2008

Musings on Mongolia

Much was made easier for us in Mongolia because a few more people spoke some English. We were able to have some conversations with some folks at some length, like the woman who ran the guesthouse in which we stayed and the man who ran ger-to-ger,  so we were able to get a more inside look at the place. Of course, many mysteries remain. I think the very best way to "know" Mongolia at all (barring living there) would be to hire a guide who spoke excellent English and who was well-versed in sociology, history, ecology,etc. and then travel all around and ask her stuff. 
We also had the opportunity to be with people in their homes, through ger-to-ger, which is something that we have not done in China. Even though some of that was uncomfortable at the time (how to explain that I just can't eat that much white food: starch and dairy? and how the heck could any visiting vegetarian do it for long?)(and where is the latrine?when you don't see one around and kind of figure they just don't use one)(and, no thank you, I just don't drink vodka) (and we finally learned that the proper answer to what we thought of China was little finger of right hand pointing down [essentially a thumbs down] and of Russia a thumbs up [though given the history of Stalinist purges, who can figure why the Russians would be better thought of than the Chinese, who,granted, have done their share of bad and oppressive stuff whenever they've had the chance])(and what to say to Uranchimeg who finally made herself understood that she wanted to know our opinion of Santa Claus [hers was a definite thumbs up]) Etcetera etcetera...But, in retrospect, what a rich experience!

Perhaps I just didn't make it to Mongolia early enough in my own life. My creature comforts are definitely more important to me than they once were, there are things that I (?)can't tolerate..more like: don't want to tolerate. I'm not proud of this, mind you. We met an Italian man in Ulaan Baatar who was set up to rent a horse and travel, by himself, over territory he knew only by the Russian maps he had downloaded from the internet at home, for 3 weeks. Apparently this was the kind of vacation he usually took..he had crossed into Cambodia through the forest on elephant-back for instance. Didn't look like a big adventurer, looked like an office worker or a school teacher. I told Cal that I had once wanted to do that sort of thing. And then I reconsidered: no, it's more like I want to be the kind of person who does that sort of thing, rather than wanting the on-the-ground, gritty experience of it.
 For quite a while now I have romanticized Mongolia...well, no, that's not quite right: more like I've romanticized myself IN Mongolia. There are so many things that appeal to me about the place: the space, the horses and goats, the roving life. But, the actuality of the life that one must live to enjoy those things hit me hard: the cold (not while we were there, of course, but much of the year), the meat diet, the sanitation/hygiene issues (is that really me saying that..well, yes, it is...what a surprise!)  So, I'm somewhat humbled by the experience. Anytime the humility quotient gets a boost I figure it's a good thing, even if unwelcome in the moment. So, thank you, Mongolia.

When we first arrived in Mongolia, as you may recall, we were taken aback by the hardness of the place and the people. We got over that. And now that we are back in Beijing, we can compare and contrast. There is a lot of contrast: most populous/least populous. Agriculture/pastoralism. Collective/individual. Something to do with national character? Is there even such a thing?

My book for Mongolia was "Wolf Totem" by Jian Rhong. He is 2 years older than I. So, during the cultural revolution, he was old enough to be sent to the countryside to be "re-educated" and, being from an intellectual Beijing family, off he went. He was sent to Inner Mongolia. It is unclear to me why "inner Mongolia" is now a province of the Chinese nation-state, rather than being still united with the independent Republic of Mongolia, but by the mid-sixties (and probably before...maybe since the 20's?) it has been. He was free to return to central China afterward, but liked the life so much that he stayed and worked as a herder for 10 years. After that, he returned to Beijing, attended university and then worked in academia until his recent retirement. Finally he had the time to write the book that had been gestating for so long. It is fiction, but draws heavily on his autobiography. It has won some big literary awards, but I recommend it more for the picture it creates and the  ideas it stimulates than for the writing (which, however, is perfectly fine..in translation, of course), nor for the story (which also is quite adequate).

The picture that he paints is of a cultural clash of the greatest extremity. The grassland that he came to love and the ancient life it engendered is now desert. You've heard of the desertification of northern China? and how storms of yellow dust overwhelm even Beijing from time to time? and how the "mother river" the Yellow River is drying up?...it started in the 60's with the "invasion" of the Han Chinese into the Mongolian grassland, with their huge population, their hunger, their gift for agriculture. It was over-grazed and over-populated and (over)farmed. No respect was paid to the ancient wisdom of the people there regarding the ecological balance that was necessary for the land to continue to provide sustenance to them and all the other creatures that lived there. Great pressure was brought to bear by the central committee that all land be "productive" in ways understood by the Chinese, but inappropriate for the grassland. Heart-rending. (warning: there is a fair amount of other "rending" described in the book: wolves of horses, dogs of wolves, people of marmots, etc. Not for those of tender stomach)

So, I cannot help but look at contemporary situations. The native peoples of the Americas. I will not name the place that is undergoing similar (mis)treatment as we speak, for fear the "filters" will either erase this or worse..but I think you will know whereof I speak. And I muse on this:
*the meaning of the term "indigenous": to me, it means people whose cultural identity is still deeply connected to the land on which their forebears lived and worked and prayed
*cultural identity is an amalgam of material culture (which comes from the environment) and the... how shall we say?..spiritual culture that grows around that.
*when that land is destroyed (or rendered unrecognizable/uninhabitable) or the people driven from it, these people are in the most critical danger of losing that culture identity, since it is OF that environment
*people whose land is gone, and therefore their way of life, are perfect pawns for the military-industrial complex or whatever we choose to call it. They move to the slum outskirts of cities, where their indigenous wisdom has no use and where they do not have the skills/training/education to survive. They are easily plucked for the most menial and often dangerous work (I include prostitution here). They are disrespected for their outsider status.
* we all lose. We cannot stay one jump ahead of the destruction of the natural world  for much longer. We need the wisdom of indigenous peoples to survive and to live on the earth in such a way that all it's beings survive too.

So. The "invasion" into Mongolia of big hotel tourism, of mining (with the country itself receiving, at the most, 30% of the gain, and US, or Canadian, or Chinese, or Russian corporations the rest), of agriculture (not, certainly, a bad thing in itself..duh)....of private ownership of the open-to-all space that feeds Mongolians both literally and figuratively  will have the same disastrous effect that invasion and occupation by another nation-state can have.  
And, there goes the neighborhood.

It saddens me. Is it inevitable, as those who stand most to profit by such things claim? I don't know. Can it be ameliorated? Maybe. How? Damned if I know.  

But, I'll keep you posted.
SS

Friday, July 4, 2008

MORE lassoo pole

Here, he successfully lassoos the foal he was after. This one and it's mama had given the guys no end of trouble. Truth to tell, I was kind of rooting for the mare and her baby. She managed to escape with a couple of the lassoo poles ! They got broken, of course, and then others had to be hunted up.
Photo I'm sorry I missed: the guide who happened upon the scene as he conducted a Danish couple down the valley decided to help out. He was the one who managed to lose one of the lassoo poles. Then, with a fresh one, he sought to redeem himself. He managed to lassoo the mare, but she kept running and he was pulled from his saddle and tumbled onto the ground; his horse had also been pulled off balance and took a fall as well! Neither was seriously hurt. BoomBoom has it on video, though.

After this, it was time for a celebratory picnic. This included freshly deep-fried crullers (with an unpronouncable Mongolian name) with a big bowl of butter fat and clarified butter (Bold ate it with a spoon!) to dip them in. Not to mention the little foil-wrapped candies and, of course, the bottle of vodka.

Lassoo Pole!

These photos and the ones on the next post all record the use of the lassoo pole, the Mongolian cowboy's means of catching foals or mares (or any other animal, for that matter). Bold's son and a neighbor and a passing guide all took part in it. They said they were capturing the foals to keep them from nursing from the mares, so that they could then milk the mares and then make "airag", which is fermented mare's milk, an alcoholic beverage much beloved by the nomads.It was thrilling to watch something I had only read about.
The pole is about 15 feet long and very pliable. It is operated with one hand, while the rider stands in his stirrups and controls his mount with the other hand. Quite a feat!
Bold's son was good, but missed more than once.
The foals are tied to a length of rope. They hated it..fought and bucked like crazy.

Mr Bold and his wife, another Batsetseg

This is the view from our tent at bold and Batsetseg's.
Here is BoomBoom with Bold (not all the names are unpronouncable). BoomBoom bought the shirt from Batsetseg and Bold loaned him the hat for the photo op.

Bold was a formidable wrestling competitor in the annual Naadam festival that occurs each July. Archery and horse racing are the other 2 "Manly Sports" (really..that's what they're called). BoomBoom, ever manly, tries his hand.
That's grandma, in her "deel", the uni-sex, multi-use national garment, which can look like a bathrobe if you're old and infirm, like she was. If you're not, you might be wearing one made of sheepskin in winter while you ride horse, or a wool one, hitched up so your legs can grip your mount. Or, if you are a town grandma, you wear one with leggings and sensible shoes and a bowler-style hat. Or boots...VERY nice riding-style boots. The ox and cart were later used by Batsetseg to haul us to our final ger visit, with Uranchimeg and her husband.
When I went for a ramble by the river, I saw this stele. I have no idea what it commemorates, but thought it looked cool. That's the traditional Mongolian script, no longer much in use, sadly.

Amarjargal's and Booge's

We rode horses the next day to Amarjargal's and Booge's. His name you can actually pronounce: Bogey, as in Humphrey. Her name: forget it. Note more trees! The land here reminded me of Colorado at it's lower elevations. Every afternoon, around 1 or so, it would rain...HARD! We arrived here just before a wild downpour...Amarjargal was busy the first half hour or so mopping up the rain water that had pretty much flooded the linoleum (yup...all the gers we stayed visited had linoleum over the dirt floor).  She gave us the requisite milk tea (hot milk with varying amounts of brick tea and salt...you drink it from a bowl. And you WILL drink it..BoomBoom actually kind of got into it) and later some of her excellent yogurt, which sat in an uncovered 5-gal bucket. Batsetseg and Amarjargal also made a product called urum, which is the skin on boiled milk. It is skimmed off and served in a bowl to put on bread or just plain...very rich, like a combination of cream, creme fraiche, and butter. I liked it.The next photo is maybe my favorite of the whole trip so far. Modern time, mon, modern time.
That's Booge and their daughter, Baisa, from the inside of the ger. They all had little solar panels, too, to charge their cell phones.
That's Baisa again. She is 4 and pretty rugged, tho also sulky. She and a cousin of the same age played and waded and goofed around down by the river for hours unsupervised. Kids can really handle so much competently. I think we really spoil and over-protect our kids in the US.
Just to show the colors inside the ger (note orange painted bed-stead), also Amarjargal's beautiful seamstress work (she asked me to put on one of her vests for a photo.) She sews on an old hand-cranked machine. Her right hand cranks, while her left guides the cloth under the needle. This is hard! Especially when she makes the intricate interlocked trims. 
She is pregnant with their second child. She will go to Ulaan Baatar to hospital to birth. I was told by a French woman we met at our guest house in UB who was in Mongolia to teach social work at university in a provincial capital that, to the best of her knowledge, midwives are used, "natural" childbirth is common, but so are Cesareans. That as close as I've come to any info about birthing here. In Amarjargal's case, it may actually be good that she gets a little rest in hospital after the birth, since my guess is, she wouldn't get any at home, being pretty much the engine that powers this family. The family is mostly female and lives in the 3 gers in the top photo. Gramma keeps a little one whose mother is elsewhere...the little one is just known as "Baby" and gets lots of extra hugs and kisses. At dawn and dusk, the women milk around 12 cows. Jeez, cows give a lot of milk!
The next day, Booge drove us to our next ger in the family ox cart. On the way, he stopped a lot to hang out with various friends and neighbors. At one stop, we saw these beautiful hoses with their beautiful saddles.