“We’re in Moscow. Let’s find Red Square.”
“I’m too tired. Let me put my feet up for a few minutes.”
This conversation could have gone either way. From me to Anne or vice versa. We were both exhausted by the two weeks of horseback riding in Mongolia but excited about seeing Moscow for the first time. We decided to go out, but to whine too.
Stayed at the Hotel Metropol right next to Red Square.
Ride day number 8, 4 pm. We crested our last hill and looked down on Kharakhorum, once the capital of Chenggis Khan’s global empire, now a typical confetti-roofed Mongolian jigsaw of a frontier town. In 15 minutes, our ride across Mongolia would be over. We could see the yurt camp where our motley group of 12 would spend its last night together.
At the finish line: Fenella, Dembee, me, John, Boroo, our cook Cegee, Doug, Chris, Tumee and Handa.
I don’t know what I expected to feel; relief that we’d all made it safely, the bone-deep weariness that takes over after extended physical exertion, an overwhelming desire for a beer, a shower and 600 mg of ibuprofen. Indeed, all those feelings were there. But what surprised me was the presence of another sensation; that of a container under pressure whose relief valve or compression bindings had just been released. I felt my chest loosen and tears well behind my eyes. Over the past 12 days there had been so many new experiences, so many things to learn, so many times I’d been pushed out of my comfort zone, that I hadn’t had the bandwidth to think about any of it. I’d lived strictly in the moment, flowing from one event to the next, simply being and simply doing. My container was now stuffed to busting with unprocessed emotions and simmering impressions of new skills and insights into life.
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I am in a friendly competition with a coworker back in Boston to maximize daily steps to promote good health. We use a Fitbit to measure how many steps we take each day. Our trip to Mongolia presented a challenge; how do you achieve your step count goal while on a vacation that involves a lot of sitting? Well, it turns out, I need not have worried.
Day one of the great horse adventure found us meeting our guide, drivers, and cook and loading our gear and ourselves into two Furgons. A Furgon is a four wheel drive Russian-made van with high ground clearance which was necessary for the off-tarmac travel.
One of our trusty Furgons.
I had intended to mimic Netflix and Amazon and post all our Mongolian entries at one time, allowing people to binge read the entire series or take it one story at a time. Unfortunately, on the day I’d set as the deadline for submission from Doug, Chris, John and myself, we are all pretty brain dead. A six-hour car ride on bumpy roads followed by a cashmere factory tour, a traditional dance and music folk review, shopping and packing kept us busy until nearly midnight yesterday, the last day of our Mongolian excursion. Then we were up this morning at 4:00 am to catch our Aeroflot flight to Moscow. Consequently, Ten Centuries’ Mongolian Series will be released in installments; three posts today, a couple more in a day or three.
The Erdene Zuu monastery in Kharakhorum.
What is Mongolia like? Vast, mostly empty, mostly treeless. Dense with culture, history and tradition.
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It was John’s fault. That’s right, John was totally to blame. Anne warned us. We didn’t listen. John waxed philosophical on the merits of sweeping across the barren steppe astride a sturdy hill pony to re-enact the assault on Europe by the hordes of Genghis Khan. Anne thought it a flight of fancy that would pass once the newest in the long line of home projects was identified. Distract him with shiny objects. It didn’t work. John is stubborn and once an idea is born it becomes inevitable. And like a troupe of rag-a muffin camp-followers, we flocked to his banner.
A bit of background. I am allergic to all things furry. Horses are the worst and I violently explode with each sneeze. Chris and I absolutely love the idea of losing ourselves in the vast untamed wilderness of centuries past. But John insisted that it was to be done from a saddle. I’m allergic to horses – what a dumb idea.
I am waiting nervously to meet my horse. Chris is gung ho.
The Mongolian Horse is strong and tough. Though smaller than horses in America they seem to be able to go forever. I weigh between 200 and 210 pounds and my horses (one in the Gobi Desert for three days and another in the Orkhan Valley for five) carried me about 5 hours each day covering 30-35 kilometers over sand dunes, up and, possibly harder, down mountains, through streams, walking, trotting, and galloping, in thunderstorms and 95-degree heat. They never gave up. Impressive.
We’re getting ready to follow Baggi up a large Dune of loose sand in 95-degree heat.