Wrapping up

​Friday, June 16th​​

The evening at Saraa and Bagi’s horse camp was pleasant. We sorted out our stinking clothes, relaxed, and had a bit of a dance party as we brainstormed over theme songs for our adventure. Amerika’s “I been been through the desert on a horse with no name, if feels good to be outta the rain” was a hit, as was Old Town Road (“I’m gonna ride like I can’t no more”). The Mongolians don’t name their horses, and every day we felt like we couldn’t ride no more for those last ten or 15 km.

​Dinner was a feast with the herders – gigantic platters of mutton. This is clearly a big hit with the Mongolians, and also clearly less of one with most of the Westerners who would die for a vegetable or some rice at these meals. I loved seeing how much the crew enjoyed it though, and the little kids really tucked in. There was some ceremony too, as Bagi carved the shoulder meat off of the shoulder blades and distributed a piece to everyone. It was important that everyone partake in this particular meat, a tradition.

After dinner we had a bonfire on the bank of the Tuul River. The Tuul is so beautiful there, very wide with a thick cottonwood forest on the other side. The Mongolians sang traditional songs, which were beautiful. They asked us to sing, too, and we performed a pitiful version of Let It Be. It really was horrendous, but they didn’t seem to care; they cheered the performance. Much vodka and beer was consumed as night fell. The fire burned low and everyone drifted off to bed.

The masseuse spent the night and this morning I was treated to a terrific massage. Then breakfast, then packing, then goodbyes to Saraa. We loaded into the yellow bus and headed back to UlanBatar. I did not love the feeling of coming back into the city traffic and smelling the smoggy pollution, but the hotel is absolutely fabulous and I quickly forgot all that.

We were a funny bunch in the lobby, sunburnt and dirty, as we stood next to our expedition boxes while elegant ladies and men in business suits came and went. We dropped our boxes in our rooms and headed straight for the hotel restaurant. We had cocktails and an excellent lunch. The soup was so excellent that Cele licked the bowl out. It might take a few days to adjust…

After lunch, Cele, who is on her fifth trip to Mongolia, acted as tour guide for us and took us via taxi to the Narantul black market. We spent hours shopping for horse tack and gifts. Then, back to the hotel for a long soak in the deep bathtub. The water was the color of tea by the time I rinsed off. (Later the other riders confirmed that their bathwater, too, was well-steeped). Tonight we’ll have dinner in the hotel again and tomorrow night is the big Veloo foundation gala. My gown magically appeared in my hotel room while I was at the market, along with my suitcases and the city clothing I left behind. The blue silk gown is gorgeous!

Sunday, June 18th

I was so wrong about Mongolians on my first impression. Siagna enlightened me on one of our last days of the ride. We Mongolians are shy! he said. Rather than aloof, as was my initial thought after I tried to buy a pillow in the state department store and couldn’t get a clerk to help me, Mongolians are kind and warm and generous.

Today I had a wonderful adventure by myself. I have been on a mission for three days to find Tomas an official team jersey for a Mongolian team. I failed at the black market on Friday, and yesterday’s attempts would have been comical were they not so tiring. After another market adventure, Cele and Christina agreed to extend our shopping a bit longer to taxi over to what I thought was a store that sells soccer shirts. Our cab driver wasn’t keen on following our Google map and got us way off course in UB traffic, and then the shop ended up not being a shop but rather a production center; they could/would not sell me a shirt. So, today, correct address in hand, I didn’t drag anyone else along but set out on my own to find the place. I hailed a cab, which really more or less means hitchhiking. The cabs, if they are cabs at all, are unmarked, and often they are just friendly people who are willing to drive you. There are no meters, and, when you overpay, the driver hands you back change without being asked. (Yesterday we came back from our misadventure with a nice family – mom, dad, and fat-cheeked baby, who were all in the front seat. they spoke not a word of English, but we chatted via a translation app.) I managed to communicate my desired destination with my phone map, and then was able to signal to the guy to drive around the area until I could find what I was looking for. In a fancy mall, I found the sports shop, more or less by accident. The shopkeeper was a young girl who spoke English, loves soccer (Tottenham Hotspur), and was able to fill me in on the Mongolian national team and the best club teams. She was disappointed to find that I’m a social media phobe, as she wanted to keep in touch. I hitchhiked back to the hotel again for a tiny fee and without incident. The point is, now I’m finding that people are kind and helpful. I just had to figure it out.

I’ve also completely come around on UB. It might bear the Soviet legacy of ugly concrete block buildings, but it is a healthy, thriving city in many aspects. Over the weekend I spent a lot of time walking around the neighborhood of the hotel, which is near the parliament building and the enormous plaza in front of it. There was a festival going on, with live performances – singing and music from all over Asia – and a handicrafts fair. From early morning until late at night, the square was filled with music and people. Parents could rent tiny electric cars for kids to race around in or rickshaws for the whole family to use. There were tots on tricycles, lots of people playing a Mongolian game that looks a lot like volleyball but doesn’t involve a net, and older Mongolian men in fancy city deels. It was such a healthy city scene – I loved it.

Last night’s gala (or “garla”, as it’s come to be known among the riders in gentle teasing of Ashley the South African videographer’s accent) was incredible. We were collected in a bus at 4:30 pm in our party deel’s and other fancy attire, and taken over the the UG Palace, an events venue a few miles away. We were photographed in the lobby and handed a glass of champagne, which most of us topped off by dumping in a second glass from the server’s platter. (I wondered in that moment iif Julie worries about bringing us back into “the world”, as she calls it, after the ride. I asked her later. Yes, I do, was her response.) We made our way to a room with elegantly dressed people and blue and red cocktails on a table and a big poster showing the riders. Beautiful items to be auctioned for the Veloo Foundation’s kindergarten were displayed around the room. The place was quickly packed with guests. We were thrilled when the herders arrived, dressed in their finest deels and several with their gorgeous wives. There were happy greetings and hugs all around. I was interviewed about the ride and my impressions of the Veloo Foundation’s work by someone with a microphone.

Eventually we made our way into a gigantic dining hall. The riders and herdsman (and the biker guys) got to sit front and center at the table of honor. We ate and drank together, course after course of excellent food (although Soyolbold said he felt like a goat eating salad, so the Mongolians may have disagreed about some of the courses; I’m pretty sure they loved the pork ribs). Throughout the meal, there were videos and acts and awards. Ashley (accidental coiner of “garla”) made an incredible video of the ride that was shown; I’ll post a link when it becomes available). On stage, each of the riders received a tiny silver “passport” on a chain. Various items were auctioned — a beautiful necklace made from iridium and gold and diamonds and sculpted by Julie’s jeweler brother was sold for $12,000 to a stunning woman, and a jeweled ring in the shape of a dragon that was donated by Steven Seagal via his Mongolian wife, who was present, sold for $6,000 to another beauty. I sat with my phone and converted the dollars to tugrik for the herders who sat next to me. They were flabbergasted and also thrilled at how much money was flowing in for the kindergarten. Each year a beautiful Mongolian saddle is built for the Gobi Gallop, ridden in for the 700km, and then sold at the auction. This year’s one was really gorgeous, a pumpkin orange color with pretty silver decorations. Bagi had said on the ride how much he loved it and what a good saddle it was. Betsy, one of the riders, whose finances have turned completely around since she grew up on a tobacco farm in Maryland, is incredibly generous and kind; she knew Bagi wanted the saddle and she bid on it over and over, with Christina, the rider from New Hampshire, throwing in a bid now and then to raise the price. Betsy bought the saddle for Bagi for $2,300 and gave it to him right then and there. He was thrilled. On the ride he was always very serious and slightly intimidating, but he was all smiles for the rest of the night and, once the dancing started, he couldn’t be gotten off the dance floor. It was so much fun to see.

There were many acts, including traditional dancers, a jazz band, a fabulous cover singer, Mongolian throat singers, and the Mongolian contemporary ballet who created an incredible piece in the theme of “evolve”, which was the context of the whole event. For the last two hours, already late in the night, there was a fabulous techno DJ. We danced like crazy with both the herdsman and the elite of Ulaanbataar; it was an absolute blast.

It was hard to say goodbye to Soyolbold and the herdsman and Khlauga’s and Bagi’s wives, Tooja and Saraa, at the end of the night.

Today we had a final farewell lunch with Julie and her brother Darrel (maker of the iridium necklace), who is visiting from Canada. We were already down a couple of riders, as Sara Beck has headed off on another adventure and Christina is on her way to see Przewalski’s horses in a park. Tanya, too, was not there; she was busy getting a CT scan of her back, as an x-ray at the SOS clinic yesterday revealed that she has a compression fracture of a thoracic vertebra – she broke her back in that fall on Day 2 and then rode another 600 plus km. Her severe bilateral muscle spasm was holding her spine in place. Holy shit. The rest of us had delicious Indian food, talked about the comedies of last night, and said our goodbyes.

Monday, June 19th again, later, somewhere over the Pacific

Now you know why champagne and self-serve bars have been a part of my flight home. Sadly, although I encouraged Tanya to grimace and moan to elicit pity from the United check-in staff, I was not upgraded to First Class to sit with her. Princess Sausage Thighs, as I came to be known by the other riders after my unfortunate time in the f-ed up saddle, is squished in an Economy Class seat. But Tanya just sent me a cup of red wine from up front, so things could be worse.

What an adventure. I’m so glad I did this. I’m going to go home and try all 600 ways to sit in a saddle on my own horses. And I’m going to know that I have incredible strength to do whatever comes next with life, kids, nursing – I just had 12 metaphorical babies in 12 days, after all. My ass is calloused. My trotting muscles are made of steel. I own land in Mongolia. I have hitchhiked across UIanbatar. I have a bunch of herdsman friends on the Mongolian steppes. I have danced to techno for hours in the middle of the night with both the nomads and the elite of Mongolia. I’ve raced like the wind on a Mongolian pony and bathed in the freezing Kherlin River. And I’ll be back. Muiren da!