ULAANBAATAR, MONGOLIA -- GATE TO THE WORLD’S LARGEST EMPIRE

Perhaps one of the reasons I so enjoyed the far reaches of rarely visited Mongolia was due to the fact I’d not had a chance to prepare for or research what I was to find there.   My entry into this vast grassy steppe was like a kid going to the zoo for the first time.  Or like an accomplished fighter pilot, reaching backward and flying a biplane with only the most basic familiarization.  In short, my four days in the womb of the World’s Greatest Empire was as close to a lark as one can get.

It all starts here with Temujin (see the film – it is fantastic).  History has known him as Ghengis Khan (spelled Chinggis Khaan by locals).  He is believed to have been born in 1162, and died in 1227 at the helm of what would be expanded by his Grandson Kublai to be history’s largest continguous land empire.

Tamujin came to power by defeating and then uniting many of the mongol nomadic tribes of northeast Asia. After founding the Mongol Empire and being proclaimed "Genghis Khan," he started the massed cavalry invasions that resulted in the sweeping conquest of most of Eurasia. These campaigns were often accompanied by wholesale massacres or enslavement of civilian populations. By the end of his life, the Mongol Empire occupied a substantial portion of China and Central Asia right up to the doorsteps of Europe.

Prior to his death in 1227, Genghis Khan assigned his son Ögedei as his successor and split his empire into parcels among his sons and grandsons. He was buried in an unmarked grave at a still secret location. All witnesses to his burial site were killed. His descendants went on to extend his Empire across most of Eurasia by conquering or subduing all of modern-day China, Korea, the Caucasus Region, Central Asia, and substantial portions of modern Eastern Europe, Russia, and the Middle East. Many of these invasions repeated the earlier large-scale slaughters of local populations. As a result Genghis Khan and his progeny have a troubled reputation in these localities.

Beyond his prowess in military tactics, Genghis Khan also advanced the Mongol Empire in other ways. He decreed the adoption of a common script and language. He  practiced meritocracy and encouraged religious tolerance while unifying the various nomadic tribes in his domain.  He also brought the Silk Road mercantile route under one political environment, increasing communication and trade among Asian Buddhists, Mideast Muslims, and Christian Europe.  He also had a prodigous sexual appetite for conquered women; it is said that 32% of all DNA in central Asia can be linked to Tamujin!

Today Genghis Khan is being rebranded away from a bloodthirsty tyrant who killed millions with the explanation that he was “An Empire Builder.”  As my guide explains the current understanding: “He was a cruel man who nevertheless led our country to greatness.”  This approach has come about as part of a new nationalist consciousness raising in Mongolia starting in the early 1990s, the result of throwing off 35+ years of outside domination and Soviet style rule.

The capitol of Ulaanbataar is much like Kathmandu, though not as densely populated (1.14 million out of the country’s total of 2.7 million).  The buildings are drab.  The roads are mediocre. The pollution is atrocious (again caused by a flat valley that, while perfect as the base for the world’s most prolific horse culture, is still surrounded with a ring of hills).

This is compounded by lingering winter haze from wood and coal stoves  in what is one of the highest and coldest capitols in the world.  Winter temperatures reach 40 degrees Fahrenheit below zero on the average. But the people are friendly, helpful and inviting.

One immediately senses this after setting up shop at the Golden Gobi Hostel.  Staff members patiently introduce me to all that Mongolia has to offer, tasking themselves with my personal travel queries (all I know about Mongolia previously comes from reading adventurer Helen Thayer’s “Walking the Gobi”).  Nevertheless I begin to sense that this land has much non-desert related opportunity for the traveler, even for short periods.

The sole entertainment exercised in Ulaanbaatar is the talented Tumen Ekh Mongolian National Song and Dance Ensemble.  The name derives from a title bestowed upon the fastest race horse in Mongolia, a symbol of power and speed.  The colorful, multi-faceted group was founded in 1989 with the purpose of presenting a rare selection of ancient Mongolian performing arts and culture to local and international audiences, particularly younger generations.

The ensemble is composed of artists who perform all types of Mongolian song, music and dance. They play traditional instruments including the Morin Khuur (horse head fiddle) and perform Mongolian long and short folk songs, epics and eulogy songs, a ritualistic shaman dance, an ancient palace dance and a Tsam Mask Dance. Their performance is polished in the modern sense of being professionally produced and performed, while retaining the authenticity and traditions of nomadic culture.

Promotional materials describe the music of Mongolia as “expressing vastness, freedom and life in harmony with nature and the environment.”  I would instead characterize it as truly … truly different. The Tumen Ekh ensemble is one of the most successful folk art groups to share traditional Mongolian music with the world, having traveled to over 40 countries to introduce the truly unique performing art forms of Mongolia.

They have successfully performed at the World Music Center in New York, the Kennedy Center in Washington D.C. and Buckingham Palace in the United Kingdom among others. Members of the talentedd ensemble also participate in cultural exchanges, conduct research on folklore and participate in other popular creative cultural activities.

On my show biz night in city, I am treated by this group to tear-inducing long and short folk ballads, traditional music, instrumentals, the amazing guttural staccato of Khuumii or “throat singing” (one singer had a range of five octaves), fok dances, shaman and religious dancing, wildly exciting mask dancing, horn blowing, and mind-blowing contortionist performances.  I am particularly entertained by the unbelievable foghorn effect and range of the throat singers, the variety and change rapidity of the group’s  colorful costumes, and the variety of musical skills demonstrated by the entire troupe.  None of them are “one trick ponies.” 

 

Ghorki Terelj National Park is about 75 minutes east of Ulaanbaatar, over surprisingly good quality asphalt roads considering the buckling they must endure during consistently low winter temperatures.  The park is known for its massive rock formations (including one clearly representing a turtle, and the other representing an old man reading a book). Yurt or ger camping, horseback and camel riding, hot springs, and nearby dinosaur statues also lure visitors.

The park appears to be more Switzerland than Mongolia, due to its heavy forestation in parts, crenellated ridges, and emerald shaded botanical cover blanketing the valley floor.  The half-dozen dinosaurs are painted concrete, virtual in size, almost lifelike, and very playful in their poses.  There is no explanation for these giant statues, who built them, or why they are there.  Just another mysterious roadside attraction.

My favorite part of the park however is a Buddhist Monastery simply called “The Elephant Monastery” due to its long approach stairway appearing to be a trunk, and side extensions of the temple fashioned to look from a distance like elephant’s ears.  The building is ringed with a double row of prayer wheels, which are in almost constant motion despite the lack of visitors to this location.  Inside are colorful posters explaining the various stages of enlightenment one is elevated through in the Buddhist faith.

Angled shafts of sunlight pierce the interior from an overhead cupola.  Not a single square inch of wall or ceiling space fails to reveal some blaze of multi-hued color.  This extends to padded quilts on the temple benches, painted wooden columns, woven carpets, hanging tapestries, and a worship podium at the rear of the monastery.  It is akin to being inside a fruit and vegetable juicer before the blades make a monochrome of the mix.

Perhaps the most enjoyable portion of the temple however, is its approach.  Along the steeply inclined dirt path, contemplative “Paths to Enlightenment” signs act as rest stops on the way to the final stairs or “trunk” of the temple.  They are scripted on both sides, so you get a piece of wisdom both coming and leaving.  Most are very entertaining.  The quotations are too numerous, however, to read in one visit.  Most of the citations are also too long to copy or take notes on.  The collection could easily make up a book.

Nearby about an hour outside Ulaanbaatar in Tsonjin Blodog (on the banks of the Tuul River) sits the world’s largest equestrian statue, showing the legendary Genghis Khan on horseback. This is the spot, according to Mongol legend, where the Great Khan found a golden riding whip that foretold his rise to power.

The statue itself (erected in 2008 at a cost of $4.1 million) is an imposing 40 meter shining hulk of stainless steel weighing 250 tons   It sits astride the Genghis Khan Statue Complex.  The visitor center itself is 10 meters  tall, with 36 columns representing the 36 khans from Genghis to Ligdan Khan.  Inside are the world’s largest 3D facsimiles of a riding crop and Mongolian felt boot.

Visitors ascend to the head of the horse through its chest and neck, where a panoramic view of the Mongolian steppes can be enjoyed. The main statue is surrounded by a tourist camp of 523 acres, including 200 ger.  An attached museum has exhibitions relating to the Bronze Age and Ziongnu archaeological cultures in Mongolia which show everyday utensils, knives, and sacred ceremonial animals.

A second exhibition on the Great Khan period in the 13 and 14th centuries displays ancient tools, goldsmithed objects and rosaries.  My favorite portion illustrated the spread of (Pax Mongolica) and then deterioration of the Mongol Empire in four parts after the death of Genghis Khan in 1227: the Golden Horde Khanate in the northwest; the Chagatai Khanate in the west; the Ilkhanate in the southwest; and the Yuan Dynasty based in modern-day Beijing. The three western Khanates eventually accepted dominion under the Yuan Dynasty, but when it was overthrown by the Han Chinese in 1368 the Mongol Empire finally came to closure.

On my way out to a yurt homestead retreat, I am treated by my driver Kumba to a brief stopover at the wedding of some young Mongolian friends.  As expected, it was a colorful affair.  The guests were dressed in surprisingly modern threads.  Their squat and leg thrust dancing was quite spirited.  Multiple plates of food – dominated by fruit, sweets, and various meats (particularly goat meat) – literally made the tables groan.

We head 20 kilometers out into a grassy alp for my scheduled homestay on the Mongolian steppes.  I really had no idea where we were.  There were no signposts or directional indicators.  The roads were mostly broad ruts. Nor did I have any idea what to expect. Eventually, a cluster of gers appear on the horizon at the base of a series of low hills, looking the part of dispersed whitecap mushrooms.

I am introduced to the mistress of the 3-yurt household, Adagel (“Ah-ta-gul”), her sons Esenjan (“Es-en-john”) and Esenbek (“Es-en-bek”), nephews Nypbda (“Nurbo”) and Nurlan (“Nur-lon”) and her male companion Hanbaa (“Gam-bah”).  I get no real explanation as to whether Adagel and Hanbaa are married, lovers, or just good friends.

Their English is very limited.  My Mongolian is non-existent.  Kumba helps translate but he is not always around.  Nor is Hanbaa, who is the most proficient at English.  Adagel and the four boys mainly gesture at me quite a bit, and we all smile frequently.  One word that is universally understood however, is “soccer.”  Or more properly, “football.”  The beautiful game …

The kids let me inspect the family herd of sevral hundred sheep and goats and a few domesticated horses surrounding the yurts.  Much of the herding is done by motorcycle. Nearby herds belonging to other families dot the long slope leading to a small mesa looming over the homestead, maybe a mile away.  The vast plain appears endless as it expands away from the bluff.  It is greener than green, peaceful, serene, and inviting.

The kids then immediately gang-press me into a soccer match.  We set up a pitch of sorts, with clothes and plastic pails marking goals about 40 yards apart.  The most obvious (and freshest) piles of animal scat are carefully removed to the sidelines.  And then we pick squads.  I am paired up with Esenjan, the ten year-old.  He is relentless.

Others alternate in and out from the sideline, to give some relief from the constant running and altitude.  Even Kumba gets in on the action eventually.  Esenjan and I are a natural fit, despite our age differences, and despite being outnumbered, we manage to perfect the “give and go” passing combination to outscore various lineups squared up against us in twos and threes.  He is a bit shocked but delighted when I hoist him over my shoulders in a victory celebration following our impromptu match.

As dusk draws down upon us, we retreat inside the ger to avoid advancing winds from the steppe.  Temperatures drop dramatically.  Like the Elephant Monastery, the ger interior is very colorful.  It consists of a white truck tarp cover, red spoked roof struts, thick belts of felt insulation along the sides, printed decorative sheets covering the insulation, wool carpets, a single table, stove, various painted clothes chests, television, and three beds.  My guest ger is similar in color scheme but with less furniture.  It primarily has a bedpad, single chest and stove.

Adagel prepares for us over a dung-fueled iron stove the evening meal.  It consists of uninspired but edible beef, lamb, rice, bread, small homemade cheese bricks, and vegetables (which appear somewhat magically, since they are not being grown on the homestead and there is no refrigeration – the only juice comes from small solar panels and powers low wattage overhead lights and batteries to run the satellite television).

After our meal, Adagel seeks a reaction.  Did it please me?  It is hard to express, given our deficiencies in each other’s language.  Perhaps that is for the best.  The meal is filling, even interesting, but with the meat and veggies being boiled and lacking spices of any kind, not partiuclarly tasty.  I can easily admit to the calories doing their job.  Afterward, we all settle in gratefully to watch World Cup soccer.

It is the culmination of a near perfect day.  Esenjan naturally gravitates to me, and briefly sits in my lap to watch our match.  This worldwide draw to the beautiful game is like a universal language.  You may not be be able to speak to each other directly, but any differences are bridged by intuitive commonalities (whether from playing on the steppes or watched on the tube), the joys inspired by the game, and the spirit of common ground and cameraderie you enjoy when joining similarly minded company.

Before taking leave to Ghenghis Khan airport, I am driven to the ger of friends about two miles away.  They have a specialty for me to try, and make some vague references to Mars..  I have already eaten a full breakfast courtesy of Adagel of bread, cheese, porridge and tea.  My new hosts do not care.  It is part of their hospitality protocol.  They must stuff the guest.  Stomach satiation be damned.  I politely turn down their meal, and the lady of the house pouts with obvious theatricality.

So then I am pointed to the 55 gallon plastic drum of … what? “Have some,” I am told.  I hesitate.  “Just drink,” I am further prompted, with frowns and crossed arms.  I am wondering if this is some sort of revenge motif.  But then consider that the drum was placed there long before I refused breakfast, I reluctantly reach out my cup.  And with that, I am introduced to fermented mare’s milk.  Oh … Mare’s … not Mars.

My God … having already offended once, I am hardly in a position to grimace.  Careful note is taken of this reaction … or lack of one.  Since there is no obvious displeasure, smiles emerge anew.  “Have another glass,” they chirp.  I smile weakly, think of England (as the saying goes), and gulp the nauseous additional helping in one big gulp.  It tastes like kerosene passed through the curd of four day old yogurt mold and then strained through a ripe gym sock.