Mongolia Chapter 11: Out of Mongolia

In truth, not having written this entry is as much about the crazy business of my life as it is about not wanting to have to write it, because writing means that I'm done reliving the trip. And I'm not ready to be done reliving it. I wasn't ready to be done living it.

We wake up on our last day, and I don't think that I'm the only person who, as I'm packing, takes another look at the piece of my horse's tail that I'll take home with me. And I miss my horse a bit. And we won't be a group any more today. LZYP is heading off on another two days of riding. Siri, Aaron, Tina and Donna have one more day of hiking. And Pook, Nick and I are headed back to UB with Mandaa and Mad Max since we all have morning flights.

In the category of things that I am thankful for, though, I am thankful that I get to spend our last day with Mandaa. She was really extraordinary, and I would have been sad to just have to say goodbye to her at the hot springs.

So there is breakfast. And then there is much hugging and wishing well and saying goodbye. Though we do catch up a couple of times on the road out, it's never the same again. Never as a whole group. It was a lucky group. We had good weather. We had good horses. We had an amazing staff. And for the most part we all gelled well. We were a lucky group.

The first half of the drive is on paved road, which is nice. We have to cross over a river, so Mad Max stops to wait for Nia and the second van, thinking that they may have trouble crossing the river. But in fact, they smoke us crossing the river. We meet up with the rest of the group one more time at a ditch break. Mandaa tries to convince Nia that we should switch vans since Mad Max's van is having a full injection problem, but Nia is having none of it. We take one more picture as a group - or to be more accurate as the group we were on the first day, because the truth is that we are no longer a group without Lizzie and Dava.



Mandaa has plans to stop for lunch at a place where we can ride camels, but the boys are both on their last change of clothes and don't want to ride. Mandaa and I ride though. And it's a nice, fun way to end the trip. We even saw an actual herd of camel on the way there!



And then the ride goes offroad again, which means that the van gets quiet. Because, as in most places where the roads are bad, by the end, it is hard for you to handle the roads unless you are somewhere in your zone. However, when I say the van is "quiet", I mean aside from Mad Max's music mix. It appears to be one extended play cd that he plays on repeat for the entire eight hour drive, so at least four times through if not five. It has some traditional Mongolian music. It has some house and techno. It has some good pop, both Mongolian and American. And.It.Has.Celine.Dion.

Yes, it does. It has the worldwide power ballad "My Heart Will Go On." This is the first song that plays when we get in the van in the morning. And I look at Pook and make the joke, "Will your heart go on after this trip?" Ha ha. That was funny the first time the Celine Dion song played. It was not as funny the FIFTH time the song cycled through. But it does settle the argument: Is Celine Dion inspirational the world over? Yes. Yes, she is.

As we get closer to UB, the road evens out, the smog increases, and we all know that this is ending. It's palpable. Mandaa proves once again that she's a superstar by taking the extra hour out of her day to drive us to an antique store so that I could buy a hair clip. On the way back from buying the hair clip, I finally spot Coca Cola. As you may or may not know, I drink Coca Cola (the full sugar, not the diet crap) like water. It's my vice. Okay, it's one of my vices. And when we're traveling on a trip of this nature, there is not Coca Cola for extended periods of time. So whenever we get back to civilization, I start needing Coke. NEEDING IT. There are few feelings in life as good as the first Coca Cola after time in the outback. And no, I was not paid to say that.

We say goodbye to Mandaa at the hotel. After a quick nap, Pook, Nick and I head out for our last meal. At an Irish joint. It's not really and Irish joint. It's an "Irish" joint. By which we mean we know there will be lots of white tourists in there. By which we mean, and I'm sorry but it's true, we mean there will be lots of white men with Asian women in there. I mean that in the not good way. Pookie and Nick have a conversation I'd just as soon not remember, but I'm sure they'd say the same thing about me at various points. We have beer. And burgers. Burgers! And then we go back to the hotel and say goodnight to Nick. And it's crazy, because we just spent two weeks in the country riding horses with him, and now he'll be an ocean away.

Sad.

In the morning, we don't talk a lot at breakfast. Mandaa meets us right on time to take us to the airport. It is really more heartbreaking than we let on to say goodbye to her. I have said it in every entry, but she was so exceptional. Not only as a guide (she knew EVERYTHING - there wasn't a question that you could ask that she couldn't find an answer to), but also as a person who appreciated the people in the group and learning their stories and sharing her own. I quote now from an email I received from her recently: "We had great time together."

We sure did.

Before the obligatory part where I get all emotional about the trip, I share with you a moment in the Beijing airport. Seriously, I didn't go to the Olympics, but I am baffled as to how this airport could possibly have handled Olympic traffic. Baffled. Pook and I, of course, must again go through the international transfer station. As with most international transfer stations, there are separate lines for each airline. Fair enough - except that in this case, there are no signs to tell you what line is for what. So you just get in a line and stand there until you get to the front of the line. Then you are told you are not in the correct line. But you are not told what line you should be in. Instead, you are pointed in a general "direction." Finally, somebody is sent out into the masses to start taking people and placing them in the correct line, which you would think would solved the mess, but ...

After we are placed in the correct line, things still seem to be moving awfully slow. I can't figure out why that would be until Joel and I finally get to the front of the line. Do you know what's happening in this line? THEY ARE HAND WRITING BOARDING PASSES! I'm not kidding you. They call the airline. The airline verbally reads all of your information to them and they then HAND WRITE your boarding pass. It's at least ten minutes per person. I'm not making this up. I took a picture of it.



And then we have to have our bags checked by security THREE MORE TIMES before we can get on the plane. Are you serious? People are using hand written boarding passes but you're going to search my bag THREE TIMES? I have no further comment.

And now, we reflect on Mongolia. Except that I probably can't do it as well as Joel did it in an email exchange we had after we got back, in which he said:

"Since I've been back, what I've most thought about is this: remember how we got out onto those plains, and Mandaa explained that there were no property lines, that there was no such thing as trespassing. I've thought a lot about that...how there seemed to be such simple rules and understandings in the countryside, and yet the crime rate was low, and violence was rare, and people took each other in. Now, of course I know that UB is not like that, and I know we weren't there that long, but it just keeps occurring to me how...well....complicated things are the States.


"Ultimately, when I listen to these songs on these Mongolian CDs, and I think back to those rides across the steppe, I think about how I was so happy because I was worried about riding, and eating, and watching...and not about paperwork, and deadlines, and car inspections, and trespassing, etc. I've thought a lot about how there will always be worry in this life, but i guess it comes down to what you're worried about....falling off a horse among good people, or having all the necessary insurance among greedy assholes."

Amen. I mean, mostly Amen. Of course I'm probably not the only one who had a hard time transitioning into a spot where I'm haggling with future employers about things like vacation day count and office hours. There are no office hours in the Mongolian outback. Your life doesn't exist one way from 9 to 5 and another way before and after. And I long ago resigned myself to the fact that life is a series of trade offs and one only needs to enjoy one's job, not LOVE it. And you accept that you do one thing or another in order to put yourself in a position to experience other things. And that the world is the way that the world is, and eventually (sadly), even nomadic Mongolia will probably have property lines. I know that what I should be is thankful that I got to experience riding horses in the rain in a field of wildflowers. And I am. But the hardest time to be thankful is when you first get back, because you have to accept that that just isn't your life.

But that part was a couple of weeks ago by now, and I've cycled into the thankful part. Mongolia won their first Olympic gold medal ever this year. In wrestling, naturally. And I felt proud, almost like I was a Mongolian. Pookie is learning to throat sing. And I hung my horse hair by my front door so that I can remember every day that no matter how stupid it may seem that I have to go to the social security office to stand in line for seven hours to get a piece of paper, just a month ago I was on a horse in a field full of flowers with some truly exceptional people. I'm thankful for a lot.

I'm thankful for Mandaa.
I'm thankful for Dava.
I'm thankful for the whole staff.
I'm thankful for Nick.
I'm thankful for Lizzie telling me not to even try to be conventional.
I'm thankful for Donna being such a happy surprise.
I'm thankful for such a wonderful travel group.
I'm thankful for wildflowers.
I'm thankful for horses, but mostly for Improvement.
I'm thankful for horse races that go on forever with children riding bareback.
I'm thankful for Nadaam.
I'm thankful for bug repellent.
I'm thankful for dairy, in all it's strange and unusual formats.
I'm thankful for ger camps and hot springs.
I'm thankful for singing children, who are healthier because they are in the country.
I'm thankful for VW Vans that are driven off road with expertise.
I'm thankful for curious locals who come to our campfire to talk.
I'm thankful for yak patties - but maybe just in that one case.
I'm thankful for cold river water on my hair, and warm water ladled over my hair.
I'm thankful for hikes up hills.
I'm thankful for stupas and temples.
I'm thankful for picnic lunches in the middle of nowhere.

And, I think, maybe, mostly I'm thankful that someday Joel and I will be old, and we'll be at some family holiday, and maybe one or the other of us will have rugrats, and we'll say to them, "Always find a way to live. We went and rode horses across Mongolia one time, and I can still tell you what it felt like coming down the last mountain pass when the wind from the rain storm started blowing in."

Guatemala next year!