Follow Ollie and Anna's adventures on Passing That Way as they round the world.
Showing posts with label ortlieb. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ortlieb. Show all posts
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Shanghai to Rome by Touring Bicycles // Adventure Cycling with Ollie and Anna Yeoman // Round the World Cyclists // Passing That Way //
Follow Ollie and Anna's adventures on Passing That Way as they round the world.
Shanghai to Rome by Touring Bicycles // Adventure Cycling with Ollie and Anna Yeoman // Round the World Cyclists // Passing That Way //
Follow Ollie and Anna's adventures on Passing That Way as they round the world.
Shanghai to Rome by Touring Bicycles // Adventure Cycling with Ollie and Anna Yeoman // Round the World Cyclists // Passing That Way //
Follow Ollie and Anna's adventures on Passing That Way as they round the world.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Mongolia X Journal 17 // There is no way to happiness. Happiness is the way. - The Buddha // Nomads, Gers and Happiness
The Buddha - "There is no way to happiness Happiness is the way."
After visiting the Nomads at Eden, I left with experiences from the edges of the Earth. Family life is centered in their Ger tent, the steel pot stove is their hearth, warmth and life is a shared experience here, not broken, not compartmentalized like it is in cities, houses, apartments and the concrete blocks where most people now live. We turned back the clock, summer time in Mongolia is set on the Sun's two revolutions of two months I traveled and the world continued to spin memories and experiences webbed into the grains of my mind. I have seen a family each passing day, along grassy plains where the Earth's strata is worn thin in a series of months when goats, sheep, yak and horses tramp and feed while the green warmth of summer snaps a glimpse back at the world.
I visit a family, the children run wild and happy and carefree barefoot, the mother takes her youngest to her breast to feed, the children have a red ball we kick around outside for friendly soccer, the husband returns leaving his grazing flock of goats and sheep to pasture, lights a cigarette and relaxes at the back of the Ger on carpet mats, behind him are ornately carved and brightly colored wooden chests containing the family possessions, a picture frame holds important family memories, friends and a few distant locations locked in time. I sit to the left, leaving my shoes over the linoleum mat at the entrance of the Ger,. Sitting and taking swills of "chai woo", a salted goats milk with herbs boiled in a large kettle pot above the steel stove, the pipe penetrates skyward and leaves a stream of white smoke signals that the family is home for the evening. The father leaves, takes his horse into the night. The children gather round the fire, it's stoked by their mother, long black hair and chiseled features, arms of daily work carved and suntanned, they prepare noodles, rolling and cutting dough in strips, she adds a potato and onion that are hashed and added to the boil, we sip goats milk and they add to mine when it runs low. The sky darkens outside, winds wisp the pot stove chimney, and plastic tarps crack against the felt roof covering of the Ger. Night arrives and I go outside, to see stars, watching out for the dogs, a yelp in the night. I retire for the rest of the night under headlamp to read and scribble notes into pages and mark the day on my map. The cycle and cycle of daily life traveling in Mongolia is good.
Up ahead is another civilization, a place with connections to the outside world. I will update my family, reconnect with mobile signals and find some ice cream and beer. Between the start a week ago, what I have witnessed is the way human civilization hasn't changed mostly in centuries. This sustainable nomadic life is tough, beautiful and better connected to the life pulse of Earth without destroying it. Here scattered in empty grasslands, doors are unlocked, families are out and about with their daily work. Here I have my own job to do as I navigate alone, sometimes I feel lonely witnessing the tremendous connections in these families, but I have family of my own elsewhere in Asia, and here I am welcomed too.
Happiness is the way, I think Buddha was definitely right. Thank you for visiting the X Journals from Mongolia! I wrote these journals while traveling overland in Outer Mongolia by mountain bike.More adventure is coming soon!!!! (:
Mongolia X Journal 17 // There is no way to happiness. Happiness is the way. - The Buddha // Nomads, Gers and Happiness
The Buddha - "There is no way to happiness Happiness is the way."
After visiting the Nomads at Eden, I left with experiences from the edges of the Earth. Family life is centered in their Ger tent, the steel pot stove is their hearth, warmth and life is a shared experience here, not broken, not compartmentalized like it is in cities, houses, apartments and the concrete blocks where most people now live. We turned back the clock, summer time in Mongolia is set on the Sun's two revolutions of two months I traveled and the world continued to spin memories and experiences webbed into the grains of my mind. I have seen a family each passing day, along grassy plains where the Earth's strata is worn thin in a series of months when goats, sheep, yak and horses tramp and feed while the green warmth of summer snaps a glimpse back at the world.
I visit a family, the children run wild and happy and carefree barefoot, the mother takes her youngest to her breast to feed, the children have a red ball we kick around outside for friendly soccer, the husband returns leaving his grazing flock of goats and sheep to pasture, lights a cigarette and relaxes at the back of the Ger on carpet mats, behind him are ornately carved and brightly colored wooden chests containing the family possessions, a picture frame holds important family memories, friends and a few distant locations locked in time. I sit to the left, leaving my shoes over the linoleum mat at the entrance of the Ger,. Sitting and taking swills of "chai woo", a salted goats milk with herbs boiled in a large kettle pot above the steel stove, the pipe penetrates skyward and leaves a stream of white smoke signals that the family is home for the evening. The father leaves, takes his horse into the night. The children gather round the fire, it's stoked by their mother, long black hair and chiseled features, arms of daily work carved and suntanned, they prepare noodles, rolling and cutting dough in strips, she adds a potato and onion that are hashed and added to the boil, we sip goats milk and they add to mine when it runs low. The sky darkens outside, winds wisp the pot stove chimney, and plastic tarps crack against the felt roof covering of the Ger. Night arrives and I go outside, to see stars, watching out for the dogs, a yelp in the night. I retire for the rest of the night under headlamp to read and scribble notes into pages and mark the day on my map. The cycle and cycle of daily life traveling in Mongolia is good.
Up ahead is another civilization, a place with connections to the outside world. I will update my family, reconnect with mobile signals and find some ice cream and beer. Between the start a week ago, what I have witnessed is the way human civilization hasn't changed mostly in centuries. This sustainable nomadic life is tough, beautiful and better connected to the life pulse of Earth without destroying it. Here scattered in empty grasslands, doors are unlocked, families are out and about with their daily work. Here I have my own job to do as I navigate alone, sometimes I feel lonely witnessing the tremendous connections in these families, but I have family of my own elsewhere in Asia, and here I am welcomed too.
Happiness is the way, I think Buddha was definitely right. Thank you for visiting the X Journals from Mongolia! I wrote these journals while traveling overland in Outer Mongolia by mountain bike.More adventure is coming soon!!!! (:
Mongolia X Journal 17 // There is no way to happiness. Happiness is the way. - The Buddha // Nomads, Gers and Happiness
The Buddha - "There is no way to happiness Happiness is the way."
After visiting the Nomads at Eden, I left with experiences from the edges of the Earth. Family life is centered in their Ger tent, the steel pot stove is their hearth, warmth and life is a shared experience here, not broken, not compartmentalized like it is in cities, houses, apartments and the concrete blocks where most people now live. We turned back the clock, summer time in Mongolia is set on the Sun's two revolutions of two months I traveled and the world continued to spin memories and experiences webbed into the grains of my mind. I have seen a family each passing day, along grassy plains where the Earth's strata is worn thin in a series of months when goats, sheep, yak and horses tramp and feed while the green warmth of summer snaps a glimpse back at the world.
I visit a family, the children run wild and happy and carefree barefoot, the mother takes her youngest to her breast to feed, the children have a red ball we kick around outside for friendly soccer, the husband returns leaving his grazing flock of goats and sheep to pasture, lights a cigarette and relaxes at the back of the Ger on carpet mats, behind him are ornately carved and brightly colored wooden chests containing the family possessions, a picture frame holds important family memories, friends and a few distant locations locked in time. I sit to the left, leaving my shoes over the linoleum mat at the entrance of the Ger,. Sitting and taking swills of "chai woo", a salted goats milk with herbs boiled in a large kettle pot above the steel stove, the pipe penetrates skyward and leaves a stream of white smoke signals that the family is home for the evening. The father leaves, takes his horse into the night. The children gather round the fire, it's stoked by their mother, long black hair and chiseled features, arms of daily work carved and suntanned, they prepare noodles, rolling and cutting dough in strips, she adds a potato and onion that are hashed and added to the boil, we sip goats milk and they add to mine when it runs low. The sky darkens outside, winds wisp the pot stove chimney, and plastic tarps crack against the felt roof covering of the Ger. Night arrives and I go outside, to see stars, watching out for the dogs, a yelp in the night. I retire for the rest of the night under headlamp to read and scribble notes into pages and mark the day on my map. The cycle and cycle of daily life traveling in Mongolia is good.
Up ahead is another civilization, a place with connections to the outside world. I will update my family, reconnect with mobile signals and find some ice cream and beer. Between the start a week ago, what I have witnessed is the way human civilization hasn't changed mostly in centuries. This sustainable nomadic life is tough, beautiful and better connected to the life pulse of Earth without destroying it. Here scattered in empty grasslands, doors are unlocked, families are out and about with their daily work. Here I have my own job to do as I navigate alone, sometimes I feel lonely witnessing the tremendous connections in these families, but I have family of my own elsewhere in Asia, and here I am welcomed too.
Happiness is the way, I think Buddha was definitely right. Thank you for visiting the X Journals from Mongolia! I wrote these journals while traveling overland in Outer Mongolia by mountain bike.More adventure is coming soon!!!! (:
Friday, February 22, 2013
Mongolia X Journal 15 // Mongolian Healing // Hail & rain lead me to a Shamanistic Healing // Where Roads have no names //
Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.
~ Helen Keller
Skirting the deserts, the arid Steppe grasslands run for thousands of kilometers in all directions. I am riding into the heartlands of Genghis Khan and his people. There are millions of animals, many more than people here, perhaps 10 fold. There are no trees but these desolate mountainous plateau landscapes snaked with rivers and streams are far from lifeless, there is a life blood here that cannot be beaten down or destroyed by mother nature - these flocks of animals and their keepers seem to live on, despite of their hardships on the land. I have encountered Mongolian Nomads on horses and motorcycles, the husband and wife often carry a child or even a newborn baby wrapped in blankets between them on 150cc motorcycles imported from China. When the Nomads ride their horses, their women are unaccompanied in the Gers while their men do the work of moving the herds of goat, sheep, horses, yak or camels - the women do the child care at home and also work round the clock milking, churning the cream and making their "arroz" cheese or rolling flower that they traded for into dough while preparing noodles. The meal we shared included some bits of meat and fat from one of their animals, but I never saw a single slaughter or remains nearby. The meat was dried in the sun, tied to a wall in a building, I saw hinds and legs of sheep skinned inside a roadside restaurant (and later in western Mongolia, the Kazakh's places the meat on the wall, and they gutted their sheep on wooden tables outside stone, mud insulated and wooden houses inside Bayan-Olgii Province).
Food is provided by their animals in the form of dairy (milk, yogurt, cream, cheese, meat, fat, butter), there will be a trace supply of onion or potato traded for and brought to the Gers, along with satellite television that favored Mongolian and Russian sports (the summer Olympics of 2012 in London) or South Korean dramas dubbed in Mongolian and of course Korean K-Pop followed by Mongolian Rap music. There was a fusion of media culture brought into the Ger tent through satellite dish, solar panels and battery storage, but their food remained local and created through their own hands and care of their animals. The people, the animals and the land they live upon here, and the impending pressure of nature is all around them and these Elements as all so close to one another. Mongolians care for each other, welcoming their own Nomadic travelers and exchanging gifts, and they care deeply for their cultural way of life - the Ger as home, the 1.5 million square kilometers of open land where there is only national ownership in the sense that this is Outer Mongolian free range for their animals and citizens to live.The rest of the country is composed of permanent settlements, towns, villages and larger cities and all of this fitting into 21 "aimags" or provinces with unique topographic and climatic changes to each one, mainly the Siberian northern borders filled with fresh water lakes and tributaries, the Steppe grasslands across the belt or girth of the entire country until the very western frontiers where Kazakh Mongolians have settled and called it home, the cuisine changes as does the cultures, but the fabric is still connected - Mongolian.
Today, I have cycled through valleys stretching 30-40 kilometers in length and 40-50 kilometers in width to the continuous belts of mountain ranges always seen in the distance. There is high visibility and other times intense sunlight beyond the cloud banks tumbling above me. As there is virtually no local air pollution out here and I sense coming from prevailing northwesterly winds. All this has a huge advantage, even a headwind is welcome from the Northwest, the Siberian winds keep me cool while mountain biking and although I am soaked to the bones in sweat traversing it all, I stand again today nearby an Ovoo, marveling at mother nature and the cultures beneath her amazing work - Earth and Cultures.
These big winds continuously turn over the land with varying velocities. As pillowed clouds roll in where you can only see the surface beneath them, and sometimes today they continued to move out of the scenery. The landscape is desolate and colored in faded evergreen, grass and sand colored soil paints the portrait that I am riding through. There is an occasional skull of a sheep, yak, goat, all animal skeletons bleached white from the UV light. I only found one half decomposed horse so far, it died and slowly the body of this departed creature was taken away by insects and predator birds flying overhead while I stopped to observe in silence. I wouldn't die, so they left me alone throughout my journey. The flies of course were the exception, they always stayed with me - how could I feel bored when I cycled to stay ahead of the swam of flies, or needed more water - two preoccupations that became rituals in self-motivation and patience.
Storms brewed and the sky ahead fell dark, turbulent and thunder cracked after a flicker of lightning touched down to my northwest. I continued the route, this was calculated by a thin yellow line on my GPS, following the northern route. Rain fell lightly and the winds howled in my face, I pressed harder into my pedals and increased my cadence. The ritual of cycling is rhythmic, repeated and like a well-tuned engine - one that keeps on when the weather gets rough. Further over the brief mountain pass, I see thunderclouds gathering and the density makes them dark grey against the swirling cloud sky. The rain begins to fall harder and faster, I cannot beat this weather moving on the bicycle, I will run straight into it. A band of horses run wild across the field next to me, six of them running in unison with a single purpose. The dirt tracks turn to mud and puddles form instantly as the pitter-patter of rain continues to dance on my shoulders. I take out the Goretex shell but there isn't time to put an insulating layer above my short-sleeved cycling jersey.I ride further and pass a Herder on his motorcycle tearing the Earth between chunky tread tires heading in the opposite direction of the storm, he smiles to me through his big black Blues Brother glasses. I ride the rim around holes in the dirt road now filled with water, pitter-patter rain keeps coming until the decibals become so much louder like the roar of an engine, God is punishing me for traveling in his land - no man's land. Then these heavy drops of water turn to ice and start to bounce off the road, and I see three Ger tents to my left, swerving the road's holes and with a small leap, I bridge the edge of the dirt track into the green fields and continue to ride toward the Gers some 200 meters ahead. Rain and hail, wearing nylon shorts, a cycle jersey and a bare Goretex shell provide almost 0 protection, the temperature has dropped, it's cold and I ride up past the roaming goats who get caught in the elements happening around me. Inside the Ger, I peep in and see about 12 Mongolian Herders gathered and then greet them. They invite me inside and there is no room, so I stand and explain my name, my nationality and they know how I am traveling as a few step outside into the holy hail and rain to see my mountain bike.
I am cold right now, but the rain stops finally and we step outside, I ask permission to camp nearby and need my tent (my Ger) to replace my soaked clothing - I feel a chill go through my body and I am fidgeting around awaiting their reply. When "Yes" in granted in Mongolian, I strip the equipment from the mountain bike and setup the tent. Before I have a chance to cover the tent net, the heavens open and soak myself, the tent and there is nothing else, only the ground beneath the tent doesn't get a resupply of rains cleansing, so I pitch the rain cover over and stake the corners while the rain just comes down like cats and dogs, no mercy for me. I nod to the Mongolian Herders who returned to their tent after throwing me the rain cover from beside my packs, and I drag myself inside - inflating my Thermarest Pro Lite mattress to insulate myself from the wet interior and there I strip down to the buck and apply the 'baby wet wipes" for another moisture shower. Afterwards, I have 1 pair of nylon hiking pants (blue) and another cycling liner shorts for underwear, I rotate the clothing I wear and wash them in streams every few days, I also put on a dry Brazil soccer shirt and thin fleece top and get inside the sleeping bag. All this happens on the dry area of the Thermarest mattress, while the Ortieb panniers are waterproof, I open and remove the contents I need, and close them back up folding their top lids. I sleep for a few hours and later the herds of sheep and goats return from their pastures, "baaa baaa baaa....churlch, churlch....eeee! eee!" These animals make all sorts of noises to communicate, and I wake in darkness. Finding the Cygolite 250 lumen as the torch, I light up the tent and find the water in the Ortieb ultimate control bag, I have about 5 liters stored in there, so I mix up some powered protein with water and get down to dinner!
The next morning the sun rises as it should, the dew soaks everything in sight but the interior of the Northface Tadpole2 tent was warm and comfortable, the island of Thermarest mattress kept the down sleeping bag out of the water, and I positioned the Ortieb panniers to block the puddles in case I moved during the night. Dawn came with inquisitive Herders, these Nomads that accepted me the previous stormy night - we had barely even introduced ourselves. I met a few Nomads, and was invited inside their Ger.
Inside the Ger something miraculous was happening, many more Nomads had gathered and several were holding a woman who was weeping and appeared emotionally-struck by some demon. With all hands on her and different voices carrying over her, she seemed pulled from the depths of her despair as she let out wails of agony punctuated by silence perhaps in her moments of sudden relief. It was Buddhism or perhaps Shamanism and the rituals involved many in the community standing by or being there to care for her and say supportive words, I took my place silently and sipped salted goat milk tea. There was also book-keeping being made, accounting and donations all in the hands of Shaman who attended to her and also spoke and invited me to join them there. Outside, I left my water bottles laying out on the ground around the entrance of my tent hoping to find a source of fresh water from a stream nearby for refilling. Those bottles were taken away to a mound of donations under a tarp, it seems many had left offerings here, from solar panels to motorcycle parts, but I retrieved them and left some chocolate in their place. I believe the woman was healed that day, she mourned for something dear that had been lost or something deep that had afflicted her. With all these people in unison, it was a church, a temple, a spiritual zone and even I felt blessed - warmed by their pot stove, filled with warm goat milk and safe from the storms. Life is a cycle, we ride the highs and lows through it all and see where the road eventually leads us.
Thank you for reading my thoughts and reflections written while traveling across Mongolia on a mountain bike. I traveled for adventure and to learn more about cultures. More adventures are coming soon!!!!
Mongolia X Journal 15 // Mongolian Healing // Hail & rain lead me to a Shamanistic Healing // Where Roads have no names //
Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.
~ Helen Keller
Skirting the deserts, the arid Steppe grasslands run for thousands of kilometers in all directions. I am riding into the heartlands of Genghis Khan and his people. There are millions of animals, many more than people here, perhaps 10 fold. There are no trees but these desolate mountainous plateau landscapes snaked with rivers and streams are far from lifeless, there is a life blood here that cannot be beaten down or destroyed by mother nature - these flocks of animals and their keepers seem to live on, despite of their hardships on the land. I have encountered Mongolian Nomads on horses and motorcycles, the husband and wife often carry a child or even a newborn baby wrapped in blankets between them on 150cc motorcycles imported from China. When the Nomads ride their horses, their women are unaccompanied in the Gers while their men do the work of moving the herds of goat, sheep, horses, yak or camels - the women do the child care at home and also work round the clock milking, churning the cream and making their "arroz" cheese or rolling flower that they traded for into dough while preparing noodles. The meal we shared included some bits of meat and fat from one of their animals, but I never saw a single slaughter or remains nearby. The meat was dried in the sun, tied to a wall in a building, I saw hinds and legs of sheep skinned inside a roadside restaurant (and later in western Mongolia, the Kazakh's places the meat on the wall, and they gutted their sheep on wooden tables outside stone, mud insulated and wooden houses inside Bayan-Olgii Province).Food is provided by their animals in the form of dairy (milk, yogurt, cream, cheese, meat, fat, butter), there will be a trace supply of onion or potato traded for and brought to the Gers, along with satellite television that favored Mongolian and Russian sports (the summer Olympics of 2012 in London) or South Korean dramas dubbed in Mongolian and of course Korean K-Pop followed by Mongolian Rap music. There was a fusion of media culture brought into the Ger tent through satellite dish, solar panels and battery storage, but their food remained local and created through their own hands and care of their animals. The people, the animals and the land they live upon here, and the impending pressure of nature is all around them and these Elements as all so close to one another. Mongolians care for each other, welcoming their own Nomadic travelers and exchanging gifts, and they care deeply for their cultural way of life - the Ger as home, the 1.5 million square kilometers of open land where there is only national ownership in the sense that this is Outer Mongolian free range for their animals and citizens to live.The rest of the country is composed of permanent settlements, towns, villages and larger cities and all of this fitting into 21 "aimags" or provinces with unique topographic and climatic changes to each one, mainly the Siberian northern borders filled with fresh water lakes and tributaries, the Steppe grasslands across the belt or girth of the entire country until the very western frontiers where Kazakh Mongolians have settled and called it home, the cuisine changes as does the cultures, but the fabric is still connected - Mongolian.
Today, I have cycled through valleys stretching 30-40 kilometers in length and 40-50 kilometers in width to the continuous belts of mountain ranges always seen in the distance. There is high visibility and other times intense sunlight beyond the cloud banks tumbling above me. As there is virtually no local air pollution out here and I sense coming from prevailing northwesterly winds. All this has a huge advantage, even a headwind is welcome from the Northwest, the Siberian winds keep me cool while mountain biking and although I am soaked to the bones in sweat traversing it all, I stand again today nearby an Ovoo, marveling at mother nature and the cultures beneath her amazing work - Earth and Cultures.These big winds continuously turn over the land with varying velocities. As pillowed clouds roll in where you can only see the surface beneath them, and sometimes today they continued to move out of the scenery. The landscape is desolate and colored in faded evergreen, grass and sand colored soil paints the portrait that I am riding through. There is an occasional skull of a sheep, yak, goat, all animal skeletons bleached white from the UV light. I only found one half decomposed horse so far, it died and slowly the body of this departed creature was taken away by insects and predator birds flying overhead while I stopped to observe in silence. I wouldn't die, so they left me alone throughout my journey. The flies of course were the exception, they always stayed with me - how could I feel bored when I cycled to stay ahead of the swam of flies, or needed more water - two preoccupations that became rituals in self-motivation and patience.Storms brewed and the sky ahead fell dark, turbulent and thunder cracked after a flicker of lightning touched down to my northwest. I continued the route, this was calculated by a thin yellow line on my GPS, following the northern route. Rain fell lightly and the winds howled in my face, I pressed harder into my pedals and increased my cadence. The ritual of cycling is rhythmic, repeated and like a well-tuned engine - one that keeps on when the weather gets rough. Further over the brief mountain pass, I see thunderclouds gathering and the density makes them dark grey against the swirling cloud sky. The rain begins to fall harder and faster, I cannot beat this weather moving on the bicycle, I will run straight into it. A band of horses run wild across the field next to me, six of them running in unison with a single purpose. The dirt tracks turn to mud and puddles form instantly as the pitter-patter of rain continues to dance on my shoulders. I take out the Goretex shell but there isn't time to put an insulating layer above my short-sleeved cycling jersey.I ride further and pass a Herder on his motorcycle tearing the Earth between chunky tread tires heading in the opposite direction of the storm, he smiles to me through his big black Blues Brother glasses. I ride the rim around holes in the dirt road now filled with water, pitter-patter rain keeps coming until the decibals become so much louder like the roar of an engine, God is punishing me for traveling in his land - no man's land. Then these heavy drops of water turn to ice and start to bounce off the road, and I see three Ger tents to my left, swerving the road's holes and with a small leap, I bridge the edge of the dirt track into the green fields and continue to ride toward the Gers some 200 meters ahead. Rain and hail, wearing nylon shorts, a cycle jersey and a bare Goretex shell provide almost 0 protection, the temperature has dropped, it's cold and I ride up past the roaming goats who get caught in the elements happening around me. Inside the Ger, I peep in and see about 12 Mongolian Herders gathered and then greet them. They invite me inside and there is no room, so I stand and explain my name, my nationality and they know how I am traveling as a few step outside into the holy hail and rain to see my mountain bike.
I am cold right now, but the rain stops finally and we step outside, I ask permission to camp nearby and need my tent (my Ger) to replace my soaked clothing - I feel a chill go through my body and I am fidgeting around awaiting their reply. When "Yes" in granted in Mongolian, I strip the equipment from the mountain bike and setup the tent. Before I have a chance to cover the tent net, the heavens open and soak myself, the tent and there is nothing else, only the ground beneath the tent doesn't get a resupply of rains cleansing, so I pitch the rain cover over and stake the corners while the rain just comes down like cats and dogs, no mercy for me. I nod to the Mongolian Herders who returned to their tent after throwing me the rain cover from beside my packs, and I drag myself inside - inflating my Thermarest Pro Lite mattress to insulate myself from the wet interior and there I strip down to the buck and apply the 'baby wet wipes" for another moisture shower. Afterwards, I have 1 pair of nylon hiking pants (blue) and another cycling liner shorts for underwear, I rotate the clothing I wear and wash them in streams every few days, I also put on a dry Brazil soccer shirt and thin fleece top and get inside the sleeping bag. All this happens on the dry area of the Thermarest mattress, while the Ortieb panniers are waterproof, I open and remove the contents I need, and close them back up folding their top lids. I sleep for a few hours and later the herds of sheep and goats return from their pastures, "baaa baaa baaa....churlch, churlch....eeee! eee!" These animals make all sorts of noises to communicate, and I wake in darkness. Finding the Cygolite 250 lumen as the torch, I light up the tent and find the water in the Ortieb ultimate control bag, I have about 5 liters stored in there, so I mix up some powered protein with water and get down to dinner!
The next morning the sun rises as it should, the dew soaks everything in sight but the interior of the Northface Tadpole2 tent was warm and comfortable, the island of Thermarest mattress kept the down sleeping bag out of the water, and I positioned the Ortieb panniers to block the puddles in case I moved during the night. Dawn came with inquisitive Herders, these Nomads that accepted me the previous stormy night - we had barely even introduced ourselves. I met a few Nomads, and was invited inside their Ger.
Inside the Ger something miraculous was happening, many more Nomads had gathered and several were holding a woman who was weeping and appeared emotionally-struck by some demon. With all hands on her and different voices carrying over her, she seemed pulled from the depths of her despair as she let out wails of agony punctuated by silence perhaps in her moments of sudden relief. It was Buddhism or perhaps Shamanism and the rituals involved many in the community standing by or being there to care for her and say supportive words, I took my place silently and sipped salted goat milk tea. There was also book-keeping being made, accounting and donations all in the hands of Shaman who attended to her and also spoke and invited me to join them there. Outside, I left my water bottles laying out on the ground around the entrance of my tent hoping to find a source of fresh water from a stream nearby for refilling. Those bottles were taken away to a mound of donations under a tarp, it seems many had left offerings here, from solar panels to motorcycle parts, but I retrieved them and left some chocolate in their place. I believe the woman was healed that day, she mourned for something dear that had been lost or something deep that had afflicted her. With all these people in unison, it was a church, a temple, a spiritual zone and even I felt blessed - warmed by their pot stove, filled with warm goat milk and safe from the storms. Life is a cycle, we ride the highs and lows through it all and see where the road eventually leads us.
Thank you for reading my thoughts and reflections written while traveling across Mongolia on a mountain bike. I traveled for adventure and to learn more about cultures. More adventures are coming soon!!!!
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Mongolia X Journal 12 : Eat Sheep Head // Hitch-hiking with One-Eyed Herder and The Welder hauling the Dirt Load // Microadventure by Brian Peric
My family in North Central Mongolia = The Welder hauling dirt with his family
A few days ago, I visited a town in the middle of nowhere. I met a local hauling a load of soil into his village in a Bongo pickup truck, along with his one eyed friend - we drove together into town. I thought it would be helpful in this region to know some locals, and they looked intimidating at first - never judge others by outward appearance on the Steppe grasslands of Mongolia - 100% are genuine people living an otherworldly life that I have never known completely through birthrights. I do enjoy traveling and have found my global journey to take my permanent life to Asia, so I can relate to where I am traveling in Mongolia, Korea or China - all these are close to home these days for my new family.
We bounced a few kilometers together, I was relieved of biting flies - since there are so many of them in Mongolia. Natural scenery, clean air, beautiful country - and flies, loads and loads of them. I grew comfortable with my flocks though, they essentially kept me moving about 8 hours per day in the saddle, and they encouraged me to take shorter breaks and longer days pedaling. This was useful for me in several ways, on top of all, they kept me on my toes, alert and ready at times to strike back and kill. Flies have no where to go, they are equally or better evolved for the tenacious climate, weather and conditions and seem to hone in methodically on warm-blooded mammals, except this one happens to strike back with a vengeance after having them trail me, sip sweat off my clothing and panniers, and occasionally when their leader - zippy horseflies come in for the kill, or be killed. They bite, and many of their tiny knat fly friends will pay the price along with them. You can't kill them all, it's funny like a War, you win a battle if you stop paying attention to them, but lose it the moment you keep your mind on it. Power of thought, it's an important ingredient to adventure bicycle travel. Most already know this.Outside town, wooden fences with paint faded and peeling in long strips was the guard stop of a tiny Buddhist temple. We stopped the truck with a squeal of brakes and dust shaken up and blown past as we opened our truck doors. My friends were shirtless, golden tanned and smiling brightly - great characters to meet in person, I would introduce friends to them when I return in the future! They allow me to stroll around, take photos of the building and surrounding, mostly wood buildings, all painted in the same faded maroon red paint, the wooden framed houses constructed as log cabins were the permanent dwellings, while most residents also had their Ger tents in their yards, quartered off by tall wooden fences. The Nomads have come to settle down, and this location was very pleasant - as were the people who I interacted with through shopping and exchanging money at a local bank.
"Some Mongolians suggested I try riding Motorcycles.
Yes, I tried that many times across North America already. 5 times.
The bicycle is more economical and ecologically friendly than the motorcycle."
We sat outdoors next to their log cabin home, there was a garden growing vegetables in their yard in place of a Ger tent, and there was a welding workshop, built of wooden timber in the shape of a small barn. I parked the bike in the workshop, and watched my host after dinner, cutting steel and welding steel to built frames for tables and work benches. He was a local handyman. Earlier today, we drove around town and he greeted everyone and I raised an arm saying "Sainbain au!" We dropped his one-eyed friend at a local convenience store, at the end of a hard manual day of labor, Mongolian men were sweeping their vodka out of these small shops and turning the dirt roads for home and their reward for their work.
In all, I had an enjoyable time here, apart from the annoying questions from a guest, local dentist and her husband who continuously probed for the value of my bicycle (I told them it was definitely cheaper than their motorcycle!), my yearly salary, where I would be leaving my bicycle when I left Mongolia, etc etc etc...that was enough to give me enough anxiety, would the bike be there in the barn where I left it in the morning? - of course, as they sat and drank all my beer!
I went outside in the heavy rain, walked 360 degrees around my tent and tightened the stakes in the Earthy soil, then zipped up my rain cover and took retreat indoors - the tent is the oasis.
The hosts couldn't communicate very well in English, their eldest daughter offered some translations which were the bridge over a large linguistic gap. The sheep head that the Wife of the Herder Welder hauling dirt prepared was delicious, and their daughters educated and friendly. In all, their group was cheerful, warm and friendly -expecting nothing and appreciative for all the extra food gifts I purchased to leave with them the following day. Thank God, I left with photos and memories of a great night with them. It was unfortunately they had their uninvited and nosy guests, the Dentist and her tooth-pulling sly husband who seemed to drool over my bike, as the price of everything I had had strapped on my back, the bicycle of course (priceless, don't even ask me!) and the constant pressure to give them my banking balances and sources of income to take such a "worldly trip" as it were, visiting Mongolia. I explained the cost of the flight to the capital Ulaanbaatar from Korea was the biggest part of my investment, fortunately, with a return flight back home after this adventure was over. The rest of the bicycle parts were cobbled together and the frame being the most expensive component built by Lynskey in the USA.
Unexpected situations like this have rarely occur on any of my journeys around the world. Today was that 0.1% leading to an unexpected and uncomfortable time inside someone else's property while staked out camping near a vegetable garden on a dark, stormy night. But once I settled into my tent, lighting my guidebook with a headlamp, reading a few pages, I released my grip on the thoughts of of their dentist friend coming back at night with bolt cutters to remove my lock and snatch my bike, nothing more than a myth. I slept great and left them with a memorable night shared together. It's worth mentioning, that even though the locals were housed and sheltered well, there as in most places in Mongolia today, there was no running water in the their place, nor flush toilets or showers. Just a wood box and hole in the ground outside for a toilet which does it's job. Be prepared for the unexpected. I always do.
Thanks for reading my daily thoughts and meditations written while mountain biking across Mongolia this summer. More adventure is coming soon!!!
Mongolia X Journal 12 : Eat Sheep Head // Hitch-hiking with One-Eyed Herder and The Welder hauling the Dirt Load // Microadventure by Brian Peric
My family in North Central Mongolia = The Welder hauling dirt with his family
A few days ago, I visited a town in the middle of nowhere. I met a local hauling a load of soil into his village in a Bongo pickup truck, along with his one eyed friend - we drove together into town. I thought it would be helpful in this region to know some locals, and they looked intimidating at first - never judge others by outward appearance on the Steppe grasslands of Mongolia - 100% are genuine people living an otherworldly life that I have never known completely through birthrights. I do enjoy traveling and have found my global journey to take my permanent life to Asia, so I can relate to where I am traveling in Mongolia, Korea or China - all these are close to home these days for my new family.
We bounced a few kilometers together, I was relieved of biting flies - since there are so many of them in Mongolia. Natural scenery, clean air, beautiful country - and flies, loads and loads of them. I grew comfortable with my flocks though, they essentially kept me moving about 8 hours per day in the saddle, and they encouraged me to take shorter breaks and longer days pedaling. This was useful for me in several ways, on top of all, they kept me on my toes, alert and ready at times to strike back and kill. Flies have no where to go, they are equally or better evolved for the tenacious climate, weather and conditions and seem to hone in methodically on warm-blooded mammals, except this one happens to strike back with a vengeance after having them trail me, sip sweat off my clothing and panniers, and occasionally when their leader - zippy horseflies come in for the kill, or be killed. They bite, and many of their tiny knat fly friends will pay the price along with them. You can't kill them all, it's funny like a War, you win a battle if you stop paying attention to them, but lose it the moment you keep your mind on it. Power of thought, it's an important ingredient to adventure bicycle travel. Most already know this.Outside town, wooden fences with paint faded and peeling in long strips was the guard stop of a tiny Buddhist temple. We stopped the truck with a squeal of brakes and dust shaken up and blown past as we opened our truck doors. My friends were shirtless, golden tanned and smiling brightly - great characters to meet in person, I would introduce friends to them when I return in the future! They allow me to stroll around, take photos of the building and surrounding, mostly wood buildings, all painted in the same faded maroon red paint, the wooden framed houses constructed as log cabins were the permanent dwellings, while most residents also had their Ger tents in their yards, quartered off by tall wooden fences. The Nomads have come to settle down, and this location was very pleasant - as were the people who I interacted with through shopping and exchanging money at a local bank.
"Some Mongolians suggested I try riding Motorcycles.
Yes, I tried that many times across North America already. 5 times.
The bicycle is more economical and ecologically friendly than the motorcycle."
We sat outdoors next to their log cabin home, there was a garden growing vegetables in their yard in place of a Ger tent, and there was a welding workshop, built of wooden timber in the shape of a small barn. I parked the bike in the workshop, and watched my host after dinner, cutting steel and welding steel to built frames for tables and work benches. He was a local handyman. Earlier today, we drove around town and he greeted everyone and I raised an arm saying "Sainbain au!" We dropped his one-eyed friend at a local convenience store, at the end of a hard manual day of labor, Mongolian men were sweeping their vodka out of these small shops and turning the dirt roads for home and their reward for their work.
In all, I had an enjoyable time here, apart from the annoying questions from a guest, local dentist and her husband who continuously probed for the value of my bicycle (I told them it was definitely cheaper than their motorcycle!), my yearly salary, where I would be leaving my bicycle when I left Mongolia, etc etc etc...that was enough to give me enough anxiety, would the bike be there in the barn where I left it in the morning? - of course, as they sat and drank all my beer!
I went outside in the heavy rain, walked 360 degrees around my tent and tightened the stakes in the Earthy soil, then zipped up my rain cover and took retreat indoors - the tent is the oasis.
The hosts couldn't communicate very well in English, their eldest daughter offered some translations which were the bridge over a large linguistic gap. The sheep head that the Wife of the Herder Welder hauling dirt prepared was delicious, and their daughters educated and friendly. In all, their group was cheerful, warm and friendly -expecting nothing and appreciative for all the extra food gifts I purchased to leave with them the following day. Thank God, I left with photos and memories of a great night with them. It was unfortunately they had their uninvited and nosy guests, the Dentist and her tooth-pulling sly husband who seemed to drool over my bike, as the price of everything I had had strapped on my back, the bicycle of course (priceless, don't even ask me!) and the constant pressure to give them my banking balances and sources of income to take such a "worldly trip" as it were, visiting Mongolia. I explained the cost of the flight to the capital Ulaanbaatar from Korea was the biggest part of my investment, fortunately, with a return flight back home after this adventure was over. The rest of the bicycle parts were cobbled together and the frame being the most expensive component built by Lynskey in the USA.
Unexpected situations like this have rarely occur on any of my journeys around the world. Today was that 0.1% leading to an unexpected and uncomfortable time inside someone else's property while staked out camping near a vegetable garden on a dark, stormy night. But once I settled into my tent, lighting my guidebook with a headlamp, reading a few pages, I released my grip on the thoughts of of their dentist friend coming back at night with bolt cutters to remove my lock and snatch my bike, nothing more than a myth. I slept great and left them with a memorable night shared together. It's worth mentioning, that even though the locals were housed and sheltered well, there as in most places in Mongolia today, there was no running water in the their place, nor flush toilets or showers. Just a wood box and hole in the ground outside for a toilet which does it's job. Be prepared for the unexpected. I always do.
Thanks for reading my daily thoughts and meditations written while mountain biking across Mongolia this summer. More adventure is coming soon!!!
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