Dongbei - a real yurt

The taxidriver was supposed to pick me up at 9am, but he forgot or slept in or something. We ended up starting at 10. We were friends, because of dinner the night before and our conversations, but we hadn't talked about price for the day's driving. I didn't think we were close enough friends yet to warrant a day of free driving. When he got there, the taxi also had his brother-in-law (a doctor, I'd met him the night before) and a friend visiting from out of town (who I didn't recognize).

The price he told me was 200 kuai. I think that's pretty standard, it was the same I'd gotten from another driver I'd flagged down randomly the night before and asked just for reference. I wasn't getting the rock bottom, but at least he wasn't trying to screw me. We started by checking out the Kerulen river, famous according to my guides for being the childhood stomping grounds of Ghengis Khan. It was pretty tame, more of a canal or big creek, but there was a block of granite with the name of the river on it so I got a picture.

Next was the big deal, the real authentic yurt that I had been hoping to see. I'd thought the night before that this guy had a friend that lived in one so he could take me there, but it turns out that wasn' t the case. We just started driving out on the highway until we spotted a yurt off in the distance, then started off-roading the low-riding, beater taxi in that direction. The taxi sounded like a coke can with a bb inside as we bounced over the rough ground, but none of the other three in the car seemed to notice.

The grasslands, viewed as a whole, are a sea of pale green fading away into nothing as far as you can see. I could see now that what appeared to be a fairly thick carpet of grass was in fact small clumps semi-dry grass and weeds with plenty of bare dirt filling in the gaps. I was told that the grasslands were even more dry than usual because of a drought that had been going for the last few years. From a distance, a yurt is just a pointy silhouette breaking the monotony of the unchanging horizon. As we came closer, I realized that it was still pretty much a pointy silhouette on the horizon. It blows my mind to think that people can live like that, a speck clinging to the earth with nothing in sight for miles around, the only protection from the elements a 20-foot diameter tent. In addition to the yurt, the residents had set up fence panels to make a round-pen, presumably for horse work, or maybe isolating their sheep at times. Other signs of residence included a cart resting lopsidedly nearby, a pile of dung for fuel, and a unique stove contraption. Be sure to check the pictures because this stuff is cool.

We were greeted by a leathery faced Mongolian guy who was working outside at the stove. A young guy who looked to be about my age was also present. The older guy looked like he'd been living outside for a very long time, the lines on his face deeply set and his body thin and wiry. I have to admit I was intimidated. This guy was not the same as the other Mongolians I'd met, like the taxi driver and his brother in law. They were used to the relatively normal and easy life in town. They did not spend all of their time riding, cooking, and caring for over 1000 head of sheep. I only saw him smile a couple times the whole time we were there. The younger guy was also really intimidating. He often avoided looking at me, but when he did he would stare at me for extended periods, not revealing much in the way of emotion. My friendly smiles and nods were answered by a slight head motion and lipcurl. Or I might have imagined those. He seemed to be sizing me up, and I can only imagine what he must have been thinking. "What's this idiot American doing out here - is his life so easy that he can travel to the other side of the world to stare at us like exhibits in a museum?" "He looks soft...he wouldn't last a day tending the sheep." Who knows, it could have been more benign thoughts, but my own fears of how I was being viewed were reflected in that level stare.

It didn't help that they were speaking Mongolian the whole time. Apparently they can understand some Chinese, but can't really speak it, whereas the Mongolians from town are completely bilingual. Maybe if I'd been able to talk directly to them I could have figured out what they were thinking, but as it was I had to settle for whatever my driver decided to tell me.

I don't remember the guy my age smiling at all, and the older guy only once. That was when I was trying to ride the horse. Without my saying anything to him, the taxi driver spoke with the Mongolian, then said, "do you want to ride his horse?". I eyed the horse uneasily, then asked "how is the horse?". "His horse is amazing!" The taxi driver said with a smile that was a bit mischievous. I wasn't sure what "amazing" meant, but I could guess. This was no kids horse. This was a working horse, used in long days of herding by the tough Mongolians. With reservation, I agreed to give it a try as long as the Mongolian kept holding the lead rope.

The first time I got close, walking slowly with my hand outstretched, the horse shied away abruptly but was quickly calmed by his master. The second time he backed away again, and got a firmer jerk on the rope and an angry word. "I'd better not..." I said, feeling I'd been given a clear sign, but their hand motions indicated to give it another shot. This time I was able to reach the horse, put a hand on the saddle, foot in the stirrup, and hop up. Miraculously, there was only minimal movement on the part of the horse. A photo was quickly snapped, and I began to dismount. I was halfway out of the saddle when the horse made a sudden sideways motion, resulting in my ungraceful dismount and hasty retreat. No harm done, but it was obvious I'd been a little shaken. Apparently that's where Mongolian humor lies because when I looked his way the old Mongolian's weathered face was creased in a big grin.

The inside of the yurt was small but cozy. It had two beds, a small counter unit, a knee high table, several stools, and various photos and other items lining the walls. The walls and roof were framed with wood. The wall frame sections were built just like those collapsible child safety gates, with diagonal rods connected by pins to allow pivoting and shrinkage. The roof was wooden rafter rods every few inches stretching from the top of the wall panels to the roof peak. Heavy canvas was draped over all of this framing, making it invisible from the outside. There was also canvas covering the floor. They can take it apart and put it back together in two hours, pretty amazing when you're talking about your house.

We ate soup with noodles and dried lamb that they had started making as soon as we arrived. Simple, but not bad at all. I didn't get sick from it either, something I was concerned about after seeing the flies covering the food on the counter - check out the picture if you can find it among all the others. I got to watch the older guy roll out the dough and chop it up into long noodles. The taxi driver told me he was doing this specially because we came, normally there's another kind of noodles that's less labor intensive. I felt bad for interrupting their day, but kept being told that's just their culture and it was no big deal.

Seeing the yurt was the most authentic experience I had those two weeks. Even if that's the only thing I'd done the whole time traveling, going would have been worth it.