Orkhon River Valley

Saturday 18th August
Today we made a trip up the Orkhon River Valley. As I have previously mentioned, the valley is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and probably the cradle of Mongolia's nomadic culture. It's a wide valley - 10km or more for much of its length, and there are no roads only dirt trails. Owing to volcanic activity in the distant past it's something of a bumpy journey.

We travelled by Russian ATV again, accompanied by most of the family this time, with the object of visiting Tuvkhuun monastery and Ulaan Tsutgalan waterfall. The Orkhon valley is incredibly beautiful, and after the overcast weather yesterday, we had wonderful blue skies and billowing cloud today - which lit the lush greens of the valley and the dark volcanic rock beautifully. The valley is a very popular destination for horse-trekking and I think there can hardly be a finer place on the planet for it - there are mountains, rocks and boulders, pine forests, the river itself and the wide plain. It's an absolute paradise of animalkind - of course there are herds of horses, sheep, goats, cows and yaks wandering freely, but we also saw dozens of chipmunks, a pair of marmot and at one point our van passed beneath a tumbledown boulder crag on which were perched a golden eagle hanging out with a ruffianly-looking dozen vultures: they stared at us with the nonchalant "who do you think you are?" contempt of cats as we past beneath them, just 30 metres away.

The Russian ATV we travelled in has to be the only other choice of transport for this region (well, apart from going by foot), although we did occasionally pass an ordinary car on the valley plain. Straight out of Kharkhorin we had to ford the Orkhon river which was flowing pretty fast, wide and deep (well, it can't have been much over three feet deep but that feels deep enough). We then followed the river as it flowed underneath rocks and mountains, before crossing out onto the boulder-strewn plain. Russian ATV's are built to take terrific punishment, although they pass a hell of a lot of that on to the passengers too.

After an hour or so we stopped by a stupa out on the plain, while the driver went over to a ger to buy some airag for our journey - he came back with six or eight litres of the finest fermented mare's milk. There was a richer, creamier taste to this airag than that I've tried previously. I like it, but it's hard to match the Mongolian enthusaism, especially during a day in which you might also be drinking a litre or two of milk tea, eating arrul (dried curds) and probably having a healthy supply of vodka too (although I managed to sidestep that duty today). It's no exaggeration to say that milk, meat and flour make up 90% of the rural Mongolian diet. Enkhbold, on being offered pine nuts, would later refuse joking "I only eat meat" - but it was one of those jokes which was in essence just the bare facts.

A good while later and we arrived at our first objective. We parked up the van in some beautiful pine woods, part of a protected area, and walked up a long path intothe forest and up the mountain. Finally we reached the end of the trees, beneath a singular rocky summit: the home of Tunkhuu Monastery. This small place of worship was founded by Mongolia's prime Buddhist 'saint' Zanabazar in the 17th century. There's a small temple - destroyed in the 30s and rebuilt in the 90s - and numerous meditation caves and, supposedly, the foot print of Zanabazar in rock. Very precipitous paths lead up to the caves and the summit - no deterrent at all to the many very elderly pilgrims who determinedly make their way up there. Beneath the summit there's a rock seat, by tradition Zanabazar's favourite spot for meditation during the 30 years he spent here meditating and practicing various skills and arts (including creating the 'soyombo' script, seen on Mongolia's modern state flag). The top of the peak is very flat, and houses a fine ovoo where, according to the sign, nagas or 'hidden spirits' of the mountain are offered prayers and praise - presumably the Buddhist translation of the older Shamanistic worship of the spirit of the place. The views are spectacular.

Some time later we'd made our way down the mountain, where we had a picnic of tinned sardines and airag. Enkhbold and the driver had somehow managed to polish off a bottle of vodka on the way, everyone was in a very jolly mood. We played 'dembee' - a kind of variant on 'paper-scissor-stone' (thumb beats forefinger/forefinger beats middle/middle beats ring/ring beats little/little beats thumb - keep playing until one of you scores a hit). The loser of each round would have to drink a bowlful of airag.

Eventually we got back in the ATV, and left the forest, to head further up-river. The road got rockier, big and small boulders of lava deposited everywhere along the plain. We continued for a good few hours before reaching our final target: Ulaan Tsutgalan, the 'Red Flood'. The waterfall was very impressive, pouring 27metres down into a steep sided canyon, created by a combination of erosion and the long-ago volcanic activity. After admiring the view from very close to the edge on the top, we made our way down into the canyon, to pose for photos at the bottom of the falls, and submerge our heads in the cool water. More photos at the top and a drink of the fresh-tasting Orkhon, before getting back in our vehicle to return the 125km to Kharkhorin.

On the way we went out to visit relatives of our host family, but when we finally got to the corner of the valley where one nomadic family after another had pointed us, we found that the family had long since left for distant pastures. The sun was setting now, and we still had a long way to travel. I have noted that the Orkhon valley is wide and uneven, and that there are no roads, just dirt tracks. In the day time it's easy enough to point your motor in the general direction of a distant landmark, and when the paths diverge, as they do every hundred or so metres, you can see ahead whether the way you're choosing veers off in another heading. This isn't so easy at night time, and in short we got pretty desperately lost on the way back, zigzagging aimlessly making only the most gradual progress. Often the van was bouncing over boulders under a cliff face or across a heavily rutted bit of plain. Before midnight we'd stop and ask the way on at any ger we'd passed - but I guess it breached etiquette to do so once people were in bed. I think we finally made it home about 2am, having taken nearly 8 hours to cross that 120km. We retired aching to bed, to be woken periodically by the dogs fighting outside, so fiercely tonight that the walls of the shack shook.

More pics at Flickr

Merry Christmas, Zanabazar Museum

Monday 25th December

Merry Christmas!

Yesterday I met a young American doctor whilst getting a meal at a Korean restaurant. He’s over here as part of an exchange program, working in Accident & Emergency for a few weeks. He had a piece of advice for me: “Whatever you do in Mongolia, don’t get sick. There’s a reason you don’t see old people here.”

Managed to get myself up, fed and out at a reasonable hour of the morning today. It was snowing when I left the house, which was very apt and seasonal, although the sun was shining brightly too: looking around, there did not seem to be any clouds in the sky. Quite possibly, as part of the seasonal celebrations, the city had a giant snow making machine hid behind one of the tower blocks, bellowing out chemically manufactured flakes.

Crossing Sukhbaatar Square I noticed that they were still putting up decorations around the tree that was erected yesterday: it has miniature Santas crawling up it, and a big red soviet star on the top. I guess the decorations may actually be getting put up for New Year’s Eve, but possibly they are just being erected on an unfathomable Mongolian schedule.

After a long visit to the Zanabazar Fine Art Museum (on which more later in this post) I started to walk south out of the city , heading for the War Memorial, with the intention of taking the day-time photographs I had promised after my previous night-time visit to the spectacular location. Outside a restaurant near the centre I was very impressed to see a bunch of guys putting finishing touches to a splendid ice sculpture of four life-sized horsemen, leading the way for a bronze sculpture of Genghis behind them. I got a couple of decent photographs, and a laconic sculptor taking a cigarette break took one of me pretending to carve the ice, before the battery failed on my camera.

Crossed the Peace Bridge out of the city: it takes four lanes of traffic over a wide valley of railway tracks (including the Trans Mongolian), concrete-clad pipes, and a sorry-looking frozen river. The view to the west is dominated by the city’s two monstrous, smoke-belching power stations. Half way over the bridge, eight fully battle-dressed Mongolian horsemen came charging from the other direction into the city. Behind them followed a cart pulled by two horses, containing a somewhat slim, but doubtless merry, white-bearded and crimson-clad fellow. Now that is Christmas, Mongolian style! I carried on walking in the direction of the looming mountains.

It doesn’t take long to walk out of the city and reach the Bronze Buddha park at the foot of the 'Zaysan Tolgoy', War Memorial’s hill. On the way I passed a lot of construction sites where, to judge from the completed sites, ‘luxury’ apartments in the shape (very approximately) of Bavarian castles, garishly painted, will be built. Otherwise, the usual mysterious pipes and broken concrete structures abound. Managed the few hundred steps up the monument without too great difficulty; passed an empty plastic ‘Vodka Blackcurrant’ drink cup near the bottom - further up, a mysterious splash of frozen purple fluid in the centre of the steps. The view, climbing and from the top, is splendid. The mountains look very Scottish, are dappled with snow, and forested with firs. Beyond the Monument there are a few old soviet buildings and a few ger encampments. Was very drawn to make my way up the encircling ridge of hills - if I can get out there earlier in the day maybe next weekend I could give it a try. Looking back at Ulaanbaatar, it is at least more visible than at night. Unbelievable that these hundreds upon hundreds of apartment blocks are barely lit after dark. It is a smoggy and scrappy sight: a considerable contrast with the beauty of the mountains.

Walked back into the city, deciding to treat myself to another restaurant meal. Unfortunately, the American Ger’ll Bar was closed for a private function, so I had very good Indian food at Los Bandidos Indian & Mexican Restaurant - indeed, Los Bandidos is Mongolia’s Only Indian & Mexican Restaurant - fancy that!

So, the Zanabazar Fine Art Museum. At the Choijin Lama Temple the other day none of the guides spoke English, but the lady who ran the gift shop spoke very fluent English indeed. She was reading a copy of ‘The Beautiful and the Damned’, although was reluctant to be drawn into conversation on it. “Ah,” I said, “’The Beautiful and the Damned’: one of my favourite novels.” “Yes,” she replied neutrally. “F Scott Fitzgerald is a really fine writer,” I ventured. “Yes.” It didn’t look as though we’d be starting a book club, so I had a look at the odds and ends on display. She was much more vocal on the merits of various pieces of tat (and otherwise - there was plenty of interesting stuff in the shop too, to be fair) for sale. Because I was a volunteer in Mongolia (I didn’t hasten to disabuse her of this notion) I would be entitled to a special rate and not have to pay “tourist prices.” Wow. Of course, as everything in the shop was labelled but nothing was priced, I had no way of ascertaining the veracity of this statement and - call me a cynic - I suspect that the T1000 I paid for a Mongolia sticker for the old banjer case was the same amount a mere tourist would have to shell out. I said that I was particularly taken with the Temple’s collection of traditional Mongolian devotional art, and enquired whether there were any other collections on display in Ulaanbaatar. “No,” shopkeep answered very vaguely, “well, some of the other Temples have some art, but our collection is the best.” She would be very surprised, then, to learn that in the centre of UB I found, with the help of my Bradt guide, the Zanabazar Museum of Fine Art - a museum entirely devoted to Buddhist devotional art.

Arrived at the Zanabazar Museum at 11am this morning. It’s a fine old dour soviet era building. The ground floor seems to be being prepared for an exhibit of some sort, but I was allowed upstairs to view the main collection. Again, I was the only visitor, but was allowed to view without a curator “tsk”ing at my heels. As I left each room, however, the lights were turned out, in what may have been something of a hint.

There’s some interesting Bronze Age pieces in the museum: I am assuming that I’ll find more at the Museum of Mongolian History so will pass over these for now. The centre of the collection is a room of bronze work by the master of the Mongolian Renaissance, Zanabazar (1635 - 1724). I took some notes from the decently labelled displays.

Zanabazar was the grandson of a Khan and so a direct descendant of the great Chinngis - always a good pedigree for a Mongolian national hero. He was born on the 25th day of the 9th month of the year of the Wooden Boar, which I don’t need to tell you is “the best day for the meeting of fairy goddesses between the autumn & winter.” As a young child he studied in Tibet as a disciple of the 5th Dalai Lama and was proclaimed to be the first reincarnation of the Bogd Jivzundamba. He received the title of Khalkun Gegeenten, or “Holy Saint.” He founded numerous monasteries and temples in Mongolia (his first when he was just 13).

He “created an ideogram and derived script in 1686 which he named ‘Svayambu” meaning ‘self-enlightening’; the ideogram, today the state symbol of Mongolia, was intended to express the idea ‘May the Mongol nation exist by its own right.’”

Zanabar’s bronze castings of buddhist deities are the work for which he was best known. The pieces in the museum are very fine, and about a foot and a half in height. The main pieces at the Fine Arts Museum are the five Buddhas, representing the defeat of “the five evils: anger, ignorance, pride and greed.” I am assuming that this list is a sort of buddhist mystery or joke, something like the painting of ‘The Three Asses.” The five appear alike, but “every detail of each differs.”

Zanabazar’s works “embody the 32 and 80 features (32 inner content, 80 iconographic[?]) for depiction of the beautiful human body, which include proportionality of the body and its various parts, strength, youthful muscles, straight and shapely shoulders and limbs, rounded waist and so on; so Zanabazar’s works were the Mongolian mode of Mankind’s dream of aesthetics.”

There is an excellent collection of Mongolian Thangka paintings, Mandalas and applique (embroidered silk) wall-hangings. The Thangka and Mandalas are basically of the Tibetan school of devotional art - which Liverpool residents can see an extremely good collection of at the World Museum. Thangka painting came to Mongolia in the early 19th Century and reached its artistic peak in the early 20th century. These portraits of deities are characterised by “precise anatomical proportion, the incorporation of symbolism from religious parables and artistic amplification.” They’re very trippy. The ‘Ten Wrathful Deities’ - the protecting demons of Buddhism of which our pal in coral Jamsran seems to be chief - are a favourite subject.

Mandalas, the museum informs, serve to invoke ”the Holy Force within the contemplator... not communion outside oneself with the Divin Power, but an ecstasy or invocation whose purpose is to find and realise the... Divine Power in one’s own heart.” The Mandalas are designed to suit “all levels of consciousness... for the spiritually highly developed, for average people and for the people not yet developed... who are politely referred to as children.” The Mandalas will typically incorporate into their design the Eight Auspicious Symbols: The White Conch, The Wheel, The Lotus Flower, The Auspicious Drawing, The Golden Fish, The Vase of Treasure, The Victory Banner and The Precious Umbrella. My favourite is The Precious Umbrella.

The final section of the museum is mostly devoted to the art of Marzan Sharav - and features his most famous work ‘A Day in the Life of Mongolia’: a large traditional zurag painting on cloth - which depicts many colourful incidents typical of Mongolian nomad life (and with a great deal of humour). I spent a good while absorbing some of the details: wool and hides are prepared; a blacksmith’s privates are exposed when his pants catch fire: an old man points and his wife covers her eyes; sheep are butchered, and someone throws a boot at a dog escaping with a sheep’s head - it jumps over a roll of wool, beneath which a man and woman secretly embrace; a priest says rites over a dead body in the desert while dogs (or wolves) watch - other dogs meanwhile devour a fresh corpse, while vultures pick at the remains of another; men brawl in various encampments; at the top of the picture trees are felled and carpenters work the wood at the edge of the forest; there feasts, traders, ger being assembled, women attacked by snakes that have hidden in their baskets; farmers tend fields and scrubland is burned; at an encampment of camels a man and wife make love, and a midwife assists at the birth of a child.

Cruelty, The Choijin Lama Temple

Saturday 23rd December
Yesterday evening my former helper Puru got a severe dressing-down in front of me by her mother, for neglecting her duties cleaning the halls etc by taking time to tidy my apartment. Her mother (or grandmother or aunt - I don't know which) drove home one point by slapping the poor girl backhanded across the mouth. It was a sorry scene. I felt particularly useless and stupid as of course I could contribute nothing except protests in English. I had had a cleaner start working for me earlier in the day: I may see if she can speak to the vicious woman for me to clarify matters. Meanwhile, the incident did at least spur me to make a phonecall to the Christina Noble Children's Foundation - who work with street kids in Ulaanbaatar, please visit the link on the right where you can sponsor a child from $24 per month - to see about doing some voluntary work out here whilst I'm getting paid an extremely comfortable salary teaching the spoilt offspring of the city's wealthy.

Today the sun was glorious and in the direct sunlight, felt almost warm. I walked down to the Choijin Lama Temple. Traditionally, Mongolia’s Buddhist temples were mobile structures, to move with the mobile population. From the end of the 19th Century more permanent structures of wood and brick were built. During the 1930s however, the majority were destroyed by the communists. Of the few surviving temples, according to my Bradt guide to Mongolia, Choijin Lama, built around 1905, is one of the finest.

The temple compound is close to the centre of Ulaanbaatar. It is surrounded by half built concrete towers and cranes, but faces south where the mountains loom blue and impressive. The curling roofs and their carved and painted eaves are dimmed and coated by the city’s dust. The Choijin Lama Temple is a museum now: June to September traditional Mongolian ‘Tsam’ masked dances are held here: on this fine sunny December afternoon I was the only visitor.

A guide opened each of the different temples for me and did her best not to show impatience as I slowly strolled around the chilly interiors. The main temple building has dozens of glass cases containing the elaborate and monstrous Tsam costumes. The daddy of the lot is this here costume, which I believe is Jamsran. The mask is made of coral, and weighs thirty kilos. That’s more than three full-size bluegrass banjos! The total weight of the costume is 70kgs. The sign on the case notes that the costume is worn by particularly strong and healthy young men.

There are many fine brass and gilted buddhas and the like. I was particularly interested in two paintings one of the ‘cold hells’ and one of the ‘hot hells’: many amusing little Bosch-like details (a flaming elephant walking on sinners; demons using naked men as pack animals; naked warriors chopping each other to pieces: all the damned wearing dolorous and pained expressions, as you might expect).

A frequent motif in the temples is that the ceilings are often decorated in what I guess is Genghis-fashion: with rows of the carcasses of enemies hanging down from broken knees. I first noticed these painted on the ceiling in one temple and so was pleased to see silk, stitched corpses tied together with pink silken entrails around what I take to have been the throne of the chief priest of the complex.

Most tantalising stop on the tour was The Temple of Yadam: forbidden to the public when the Temple was operating as intended - home of secret Tantric rites. After the gruesome silk work mentioned above, I had hoped for something outrageous and carnal in the decor, and so was a bit disappointed. Finally, paid my respects to the Mongolian deity of Banjo-playing, a cheery-faced little chap, who has his home, most appropriately, in the Temple of Peacefulness.