A les 8, ens porta secador pel cabell, i marxem. Que bé una dutxeta! El germà ens porta a l’orfenat. No sé què esperar ni què vull exactament, suposo que tenia la idea de jugar amb nens petits i poder fer fotos i tal, i resulta ser tot més formal i ràpid i ella, la profe amb qui parlem està molt sèria i sembla distant però respon a tot, i el que és més ha acceptat la nostra visita. És diferent al que imaginava. És un cole, pagat pel govern, gran i un mínim de recursos, pel que veig en un barri que sembla molt xungo però del govern, public. Veiem els nens repassar el dia anterior tots en fila, cantar l'himne de l'escola, cosa que realment és emocionant!
Tornem, recollim a germana, i en taxi anem a Gandan on de camí recollim a la kal, cansada d’esperar una hora i amb les maletes a punt de marxa.
Un cop allà, la nena, filla no té diners pel monestir, quan ja representa que hem pagat això com a part del tour i gràcies a la actitud de la kal, quan jo primer parlo amb Nassan li dic que és ella quiha de pagar les entrades que tot està pagat en el preu que vam quedar, TOT, menys els dinars. La k negocia un descompte de 10USD cada una per l’espera i per aquest contratemps. Avancem els diners i després ens ho torna diu la Nassan. Em fa l’afecte que aquesta noia és una mica radical, molt francesa, tal com li diem. A Espanya no som tant reivindicadors, ens enfadem però no som tant oberts. Està bé, de la seva enfadada, ens en beneficiem amb un petit descompte.
Un cop tornem a Nassan i li reclamem això, la Judit i jo, ella volia donar-nos els 10$ (en total incloent la entrada 3500tg) i li dic que no, que eren ... 30$ + els 7.500tg , que això han quedat , accepta i es fa la despistada un cop ens ha donat en Tg els 30$ i li demano, sort que ho he apuntat en un paper davant seu. I li dic , i ara els diners de les entrades...i fa el gest de despiste! Anda que una de bona aquesta dona! Està disposada a tot per tal de quedar bé. Ja anem veient. 15 minuts i marxem. En fi, visita al monestir, porto el mala que em va donar la Tsering, molt em recorda al Tibet, evidentment. Gandan Khiid, un monestir amb uns 200 monjos de totes les edats vivint-hi, prayer wheels, stupas, es dona de menjar als ocells. ...l’avi de groc amagat en una prayer wheel, el més vellet del monestir, em i ens beneix amb un toc al cap amb el llibre sagrat envolcallat de groc que tenia a les mans. Quines celles i arruguetes que tenia aquell iaio! Que macu, en aquell moment, pensava que tot això ja pagava el viatge! entrem a un lloc on els monjos estan recitant. M’encanta, m’hi hagués quedat més estona. No fotos. Marxem...La nostra nova companya enfadada perquè paguem un 4X4 tot el dia i anem en taxi, que l’avisem just al moment de sortir per tal d’estar a punt pq abans tenia les maletes a baix i ha hagut de tornar-les a pujar....grrr un pal anar amb més gent i que a sobre són tant assertius de manera agressiva, si això te sentit.
Pugem a fer un cafè rapidíssim, després de tot això no la volem fer esperar.
El cotxe i el conductor, el Jagá, que jo relaciono amb chagas, chaga, la malaltia. Lleig, sembla un bon home..
Carreguem les bosses i encenc el mobil per anar a buscar a k, que la he d’avisar amb el meu telf. Lent. Ens hem d’esperar uns moments i el que prgunta és si tenim el bidó 20l. que van dir que tindríem per bullir aigua per consumir. Calor. Li expliquem breument el tema dels calés (descompte i entrades i que ens deixa el conductor per 2USD al dia...quan segur que era el mateix que ens proporcionava abans perquè un minim d’anglès han de saber per comunicar-se si passa algo). Just for you, just for you...Anda ya!
17 juny
Demà a les 8, ens porta secador pel cabell, i marxem. Que bé una dutxeta! El germa ens porta a l’orfenat. No sé què esperar ni què vull exactament, suposo que tenia la idea de jugar amb nens petits i poder fer fotos i tal, i resulta ser tot més formal i ràpid i ella, la profe amb qui parlem està molt sèria i sembla distant. És diferent al que imaginava. És un cole, pagat pel govern, gran i un minim de recursos pel que veig en un barri que sembla molt xungo però del govern, public. .......
Tornem, recollim a germana, i en taxi anem a Gandan on de camí recollim a la Kal, cansada d’esperar una hora.
Un cop allà, la nena, filla no té diners pel monestir, quan ja representa que hem pagat això com a part del tour i gràcies a la actitud de la kal, quan jo primer parlo amb Nassan li dic que és ella quiha de pagar les entrades que tot està pagat en el preu que vam quedar, tTOT, menys els dinars. La k negocia un descompte de 10USD cada una per l’espera i per aquest contratemps. Avancem els diners i després ens ho torna diu ella. Em fa l’afecte que aquesta noia és una mica radical, molt francesa, tal com li diem. A Espanya no som tant reivindicadors, ens enfadem però no som tant oberts. Està bé, de la seva enfadada, ens en beneficiem amb un petit descompte.
Un cop tornem a Nassan i li reclamem això, la judit i jo, ella volia donar-nos els 10$ (en total incloent la entrada 3500tg) i li dic que no, que eren ... 30$ + els 7.500tg , que això han quedat , accepta i es fa la despistada un cop ens ha donat en Tg els 30$ i li demano, sort que ho he apuntat en un paper davant seu. I li dic , i ara els diners de les entrades...i fa el gest de despiste! Anda que una de bona aquesta dona! Està disposada a tot per tal de quedar bé. Ja anem veient. 15 minuts i marxem. En fi, visita al monestir, porto el mala que em va donar la Tsering, molt em recorda al Tibet, evidentment. Monestir, prayer wheels, stupas, monjos, es dona de menjar als ocells. ...l’avi de groc amagat en una prayer wheel, el més vellet del monestir, em i ens beneix amb un toc al cap amb el llibre sagrat envolcallat de groc que tenia a les mans. Quines celles i arruguetes que tenia aquell iaio!
Que macu, en aquell moment, pensava que tot això ja pagava el viatge! entrem a un lloc on els monjos estan recitant. M’encanta, m’hi hagués quedat més estona. No fotos. Marxem...La k enfadada pq paguem un 4X4 tot el dia i anem en taxi, que l’avisem just al moment de sortir per tal d’estar a punt pq abans tenia les maletes a baix i ha hagut de tornar-les a pujar....grrr un pal anar amb més gent i que a sobre són tant assertius de manera agressiva, si això te sentit.Pugem a fer un cafè rapidíssim, després de tot això no la volem fer esperar.
El cotxe i el conductor, el Jagá, que jo relaciono amb chagas, chaga, la malaltia. Lleig, sembla un bon home..
Carreguem les bosses i encenc el mobil per anar a buscar a k, que la he d’avisar amb el meu telf. Lent. Ens hem d’esperar uns moments i el que prgunta és si tenim el bidó 20l que van dir que tindríem per bullir aigua per consumir. Calor. Li expliquem breument el tema dels calés (descompte i entrades i que ens deixa el conductor per 2USD al dia...quan segur que era el mateix que ens proporcionava abans perquè un minim d’anglès han de saber per comunicar-se si passa algo). Just for you, just for you...Anda ya!
Marxem per l’eix central de la capital, Peace Avenue, lined with the under 20-years old shops as extensions of the communist buildings main doors. It reminds me of England in some strange way, in the way shops were added to the front walls of buildings. Communist blocks all along the road, in the distance we see what seem to slums: brightly coloured roofs that we had seen when arriving into UB the day before. People, chaos, traffic in an Asian style. Shabby metal bus shelters that more than protecting from the sun they probably generate more heat and the further afield you go, we spotted cement ones, again very communist. The city is sprawling. The longest train I have ever ever seen goes past. Never-ending. There are some power stations. It’s all exciting. We stop at an Ovoo, we are surprised at the huge amount of vodka bottles littering the the landscape,which has become countryside-like in minutes. The drives tells us about the preparations underway for the apparently world-famous Nadaam Festival in June: Mongolian wrestling, horse-riding and archery as the main sports sported in this three-day event which takes place in UB and towns. It’d have been cool to see that but it’s said to be busy busy and traffic bad. Sand dunes in the distance, the road, much as it is sided by grass is completely sandy. We stop by a ger, the drives speaks to and old lady with beautiful earrings, who I don’t dare to ask for a picture. Too early still, I want to see what they are like. We go into a ger!! That’s so cool. Too expensive, we move on to Khustain National Park: wild horses. We see stallions fighting,
and thanks to my super teleobjective lens I am able to take quite awesome shots. These Mongolians have an incredible ability to spot animals in the distance: marmots and the really far away horses grazing the grass. The girl in charge of the NP jumps on a jeep and we two cars, drive to a spot. Beautiful. The park is home to wild horses and they are likely to be sighted at dusk, now it’s late afternoon and we do see some, some gallop very close to us! The NP girl and another sweedish girl play and sing there under a beautiful light, in the middle of nature. Long singing. It’s nice. It’s nice to have an ability. The sweedish take no pictures, they travel differently I guess. They tell us what one has done for the last few months and for an 18 or 19-year old it’s certainly quite something! In the park there are no families in gers, we have to get out it to find accommodation, and we cross standing stones and we ask a family at dusk. It’s still daylight but the sun is down already,which means we have to hurry to find somebody who puts us up for the night.Our first night in a ger: cows and goats and horses and sheep around, boys of around 15, a little plump girl and a woman milking a cow. Dirty-clothed people. We all stare at each other as much as politeness allows us to. We don’t quite know what to do once we’ve been accepted as guests in their home. It's awkward but fascinating. It's dusk, the sky is going pinky. There’s this white sheep who runs to me all the time! The girls say that maybe in another life we knew each other! Hahahaha. Very little by little we start playing with the children and in some way, communicating. Smiles go a long way, that's for sure. Here the Mongolian phrasebook comes as handy. I am taken to milk a goat after they have been tied up by the horns with a single long, blue rope 8 or 10 facing each other. Gosh , I thought I wouldn’t be able to get a drop of milk out of the tit of the animal but a thin trickle does gush. I do its left tit and the woman the right one, you can see the ability she has. It’s a laugh! The girl stares, the girls too and we all have a nice time at dusk in the middle of Mongolia. What an amazing experience! Milking goats with a nomad family.
We go into the ger and the affable looking man started to dance away to the rhythm of the radio music playing. Judit and I danced along a bit too! No words were needed to see they weren’t bothered to have strangers around. We were told it was the first time they had had tourists staying at their place, so it was a novelty for them and for us.
The ger's doors face south, are usually painted with bright colours, you have to crouch to go in as symbol of respect and humility and toursts stand on the left side. the first thing you see right across the door is the stove, which heats the dwelling, and it's where you cook. Gers are always pretty much the same, one-roomed dwelling space with the same distribution: beds on your right and left if two, or around the latticed sides, together with chests of drawers withs a big frame with family pictures and personal things, the pots and pans and maybe chairs are on the sides of the door. in the middle, the stove and a low table and stools. The sides are often decorated with bright coloured patterned clothes or carpets.
Then the boys give me a wee goat to hold, and then back in the ger, show off their horses and deel, and once on the wee stools around the table behind the stove, and having tried the typical mongolian tea, of which we take a few sips only, I am given a saucepan to use for turning milk into cream. Just by taking, lifting and pouring back in the milk, which by doing this makes a foam which this becomes yellow cream, like the one we’ve been given on our arrival to go with some buttery buiscits. Then the woman starts making dinner, noodles.
She crouches, takes a chopping board, some meat and a knife and very skillfully chops it. Then flour and water and makes dough which she’ll flatten and cut again, very very skilfully into spaguetti-like noodles. And it will all be boiled on the central stove. It’s fascinating to be here and see this. This is what the trip was about. Our first Mongolian dinner. Pretty tasteless noodles with dry meat.
The girls dont like it. I do although i dont eat all my meat up, for which i feel bad but well... my stomach is first and we dont know how our stomachs are going to react to this change of diet. I think she hasn’t washed her hands, after milking and doing who knows what. They’ve got grim in their clothes. There are huge mosquitoes around the single lightbulb in there.Nomads store their summer meat in winter, when they kill the animals to stock up for the harsh winters and preserve the meat by drying it. flour is an essential ingredient in their diet too, they use it as glue and for cooking. Milk aswwell, i have learned to understand why they drink sour milk and all kinds of milk: it's one of the few ingredients readily available in summer and but not so in winter when the cattle is thin due to a lack of grass as it¡s all covered in snow.
What an experience! All around the table, with Chaga translating and laughing and listening and not knowing what to do. It’s kind of awkward but cool. K says she wants to go to bed when we are all still there chatting away. Others have come to see the tourists! As all the family is there, but apparently it's normal to visit neighbours in the evenings, except for the boys, we go to bed with her clothes on, to which they are surprised. I can’t find my mobile phone. Cant be lost, have they nicked it? I doubt it but i can’t help the thought crossing my mind. I have to remember to look our for it tomorrow morning. The girl fell asleep on the floor and there she stays. We are given the beds, one for K and J and I decide to share one, one head up one head down and it’s not too bad. They all sleep on the floor. Yes. As if it was the commonest of things, which in Mongolia is, as is to share one space for living, sleeping, etc.We sleep with these strangers, they all sleep together. Set up their things there, tuck themselves under sheets and go to bed. All of us there. It’s soooo weird but abs fabulous at the same time. Not sure we went out for a wee or to brush our teeth and we sleep half dressed as well, as well as the woman. Men take off their tops and pants to sleep. No sense of privacy.
I didnt want to start being aggressive with my camera out of respect and have indeed taken pics but blurred and not very good, which i now regret.
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