Fred Hoyt's Travels

We left Ulanbataar with a better feeling for it than our original impressions as a combination of Eastern Europe and the kind of city you see from the train as you travel out west. It does have features that resemble both, but it’s only 20 years removed from being a Soviet satellite, and is slowly growing more comfortable with its past (the Soviets wiped out others’ history, and think of the Tartar years–the Mongol occupation– as the low point in Russian history). The airport, for example, is Genghis Khan International, and a $10 million statue of the Great Khan and his offspring decorates the main square of the city.

As I said, it’s a country of 2.7 million people or so, 4 times the size of France, with the Gobi desert in the south, and lots of grassland (and a few mountains) in the north. Its economy rests on its produce—especially the export of meat, wool, and hides to its larger and more prosperous Chinese neighbor, which accounts for about 20% of GDP. The country imports much of its food, especially fruit, but my diet Coke came from Hong Kong (though there is a Coke factory in UB), and our dessert came from Korea. Tourism is also around 20%, with raw materials (gold and copper mines) a growing part of the trade: and the country is attractive for trekking, and horseback riding (but after my experience, which was only two hours, I’m saddle-sore, and know why the Mongols were attracted to their richer neighbors, and feisty when they got inside the Great Wall, or into Europe). Camels were much slower, but, to my mind, provided a better experience!

We toured what was left of the past in Ulaanbaatar before we left—apparently, the Mongolians converted to Buddhism in the 17th century, accounting for the relative lack of world conquest since then, and the few monasteries were rebuilt since 1990 or preserved by the Soviet-oriented governments as museums. The Mongolians converted to Yellow Hat Buddhism, the Tibetan variety, and the Lama temple in UB, built at the turn of the last century, houses what the Lonely Planet accurately describes as a cultural gem. The Winter Palace of the Bogd Khan, the political/spiritual ruler of the Mongolian state that broke away from China in 1911, also remains. The Chinese government helped restore it, and, like the Thai palace, it contains European-style buildings—albeit on the Russian style, and artifacts from the Bogd Khan’s years. When he died in 1924, the revolutionaries who had seized power in 1921, dissolved the Khannate and established the communist government that lasted until the Empire fell.

In line with our desire to eat “Mongolian,” we insisted on a boodog, which is an animal (the best is a marmot, but this is the wrong season) cooked from within and without. The Lonely Planet described it as a “balloon with paws,” cooked with a blowtorch, but our mutton cooked with heated rocks in its skin was one of the tastier memories of the trip.

We watched the news in UB before we left; the hotel had a surprising number of stations, including CNN, when we realized that the date was June 4—the 20 year anniversary of the Tiananmen Square suppression. The coverage of the topic was pretty extensive, but I knew we’d not see it in China, and there’d probably be little in the press, and a lot of undercover police on the square, if it were not entirely closed to the people.

My first trip to China, in 1990, was in early June, and our visit to the Square was to coincide with the first anniversary—no one was allowed that day, and very few were there on June 5, when we got there, unfurled our “Long live the friendship of the U.S. and China” banner; the few were armed People’s Liberation Army soldiers, who told us to take our pictures, furl that banner, and get out of there as quickly as possible. We did!

CNN went blank in our TV in Beijing, and I knew what that meant. The government can still censor press, news, and video. The headline 5 June in Global Times, an English language paper in Beijing, was a “news” article about peace and prosperity on Chang’an (the street where Tiananmen Square is located). The article pointed out that in the last 20 years the government has developed a successful model of growth and stability that will provide a model for other developing nations. Again, the article highlights the importance of the intertwining of political stability (party rule) and economic growth.

I bade farewell to JR early in the morning—he had an earlier flight than I did and I sure enjoy traveling with him—and I set out to do some things I’d not done before in Beijing. My goal was to find what was left of Khanbaliq, the capital that Kublai Khan built as the capital of the Yuan dynasty. Not much is left, but the trip through Beihai park, which was one of the imperial gardens from the 12th century until the fall of the dynasty in 1911, was a reminder that in the parks, as the song goes, “Every day’s the fourth of July,” or in the Chinese case, probably October 1 (the founding of the PRC) or October 10 (the revolution of 1911) or the New Years. There were no tour groups there, very few foreigners. And lots of folks, doing what Chinese do in the mornings—taiqi, calligraphy, dancing (ever heard the “Red River Valley” in Chinese?) playing cards, singing, exercising. Major buildings, many of them built by the great Qing emperors, Kangxi or Qianlong, reminds one of the wealth of China before its century of humiliation, and how much of it was concentrated in the hands of the royal family, and the Confucian elite. I got to two houses in Houhai, another artificial lake that has become a bar center at night; one of the hutongs had been the home of a famous writer, and shows that even under communism, favored people live better than others, though the wealth of Beijingers, and Chinese in the big cities today, raises questions about whether you’re in a Third World country or not. Beijing certainly has the trappings of a major world capital—with great restaurants (we had a wonderful farewell dinner of Beijing duck—go to Nanxingcang when you’re there!) and a growing consumer base that could lessen China’s dependence on exports. The other was a palace of Prince Gong, a sprawling home/garden that lends credence to Deng Xiaoping’s comment, “To be rich is glorious.”

The plane was miraculously not full, and I had two seats, which helped me think about (albeit very briefly) why I could leave at 4:10 and arrive at O’Hare at 4:30. Too bad it felt like 12 hours!

As always, Chairman Mao’s statement (during the Vietnam War) is a reminder that “Americans are not Asians, and sooner or later they must go home.” I’m glad it was later rather than sooner.

I will see you soon.

JR often says, “This is just like Scout camp.” He’s usually right, but this time, he’s more right because Mongolia does resemble Scout camp in many ways. The Lonely Planet, for example, describes it as “The world’s largest campground,” and while there are a lot of places I wouldn’t want to pitch a tent, there are many that I could. With one million people in Ulan Bataar, and 500,000 in the second largest city, Mongolia has one of the lowest population densities in the world.

We discovered the “big sky” country on our 350 km trip from UB to Karakorum, one of the few ancient cities in a country dominated by nomads; even today, about 25 per cent of the population lives a nomadic existence, and about half, we’re told, live in the ger tent (a yurt is a more well-known name for the circular felt tent that is characteristic of Asian nomads. The road in places is no better than the road in Scout camp, and it, like most roads between cities here, is a toll road. Parts of it were under construction (ongoing, said our guide, for the past four years, and expected to be completed in four years). The “detours” are paths suitable (barely) for four-wheel drive vehicles, and we hung on dearly as our driver navigated one of several choices until we got back on the standard two-lane “toll road” to the northwest.

Like Mongolia, where 50% of the population live in the gers, we’re spending two nights in gers and two nights in hotels. Yesterday, after leaving UB, we drove most of the day, making two stops. One was at a sand dune that resembles the Great Sand Dunes national monument, without the backdrop of 14,000-foot mountains of Colorado, but with some mountains in the background, and about a 60-mile swath that is a haven for wild life. One of the main tourist attractions is in fact the outdoors—the Gobi in the South, the mountains in the North, and the wildlife in both places. The big sky panoramas are sweeping and spectacular—miles of space, with few gers, fewer towns (none that really merit the name until Karakorum), and herds—of sheep, goats, cows, and horses, driven by cowboys (yes! Some wear the traditional Mongolian dress of the del, a long robe with a sash; others look like something out of a cowboy movie). It was great fun to watch the drovers herd the sheep, aided by the dogs, as we did in our ger last night (and noted some on cycles and scooters doing the same). No wonder tourism accounts for 18% of the income of this country.

The other was at a monastery that gave some indication of the religion here that’s been restored since the fall of communism: a tantric Buddhism that owes its inspiration to Tibetan Buddhism, and in fact the first two Dalai Lamas, the religious leader of Tibetan Buddhism, were Mongolian. Between the nomadic nature of the populace, who built little of lasting value until the 17th century, the Chinese, who destroyed much of the historical evidence before that, and the Russians, who destroyed much in the 20th century, especially “superstitious” sites in 1937, there’s not much history left. The remnants of the one we saw yesterday being mostly rebuilt, with some ruins and a building or two leftover.

In the ger, a kind of motel arrangement for tourists—there was a shower in our compound—our guide taught us a few games that JR thinks I should bring back for camp; they’re played with sheep’s ankle bones. Each facing has an animal name, and one game consists of playing a kind of pool—dropping a handful of bones and flicking similar ones until you miss; then the next person plays, etc., until none are left. Then, the game restarts with the loser (usually me) getting the number he has from each player and beginning again.

Today, though, we got to Karakorum, and the trip was really worthwhile. There is a temple—again destroyed, mostly, in 1937 and the monks killed, but partially rebuilt—that was really spectacular. The guide took us through the extant buildings, which were a la Tibet—the animistic tantric Lamaism that has followers of the Buddha that resemble the protectors of the shaman religions of Mongolia and Tibet—blue demonic protectors of horses, the thousand-armed, thousand-eyed goddess of mercy (who got transformed in China by an Empress, who was annoyed that the Buddha god-figures were male, into a female), and as the Guan Yin, the goddess of mercy, is one of the most popular Chinese buddhas; and with the statues resembling Mary, one of the most popular purchases for Western Christians. The smell of yak butter reminded me of Tibet, where JR and I had gone five years ago. The temple also had an active congregation of monks, and when our guide said they would chant sutras in ten minutes, we went in for the services, which were in Tibetan, the language of Mongolian Buddhism. There was also a flea market in the compound, and I found a few things that I hadn’t in any of our night markets from Bangkok to Beijing (though most of the items were made in China); one of the vendors tried to sell me a genuine statue of Genghis Khan that I had to remind him was the Guang Gong, one of my Chinese heroes. When we bargained, our guide was a little embarrassed, because, she said, Mongolians don’t haggle, and American tourists never bargain, they just pay the asked price. Well, surprise to her—we’ve been to China (and, in fact, I bargained in Chinese, which took the Mongolian lady by surprise, but she thought my Chinese was very good, and gave me the price I wanted). We’ve educated our guide, too—our food can’t be spaghetti and/or French fries. We rejected a boxed lunch of fried chicken in favor of a Mongolian dumpling soup that was much, much tastier.

Our afternoon was more like Scout camp, and perhaps it was fitting that I had my Philmont shirt on; we went to a local family ger for an hour and a half horseback ride through the mountain transition zone that is where we’re at, and a visit to a real ger, one with a family who lived there. Our SUV took a mountain road, crossed a river that flows into Lake Baikal (I was tempted to say we forded the river, but we’re driving a Toyota Land Cruiser), and landed at the winter camp of a herdsman. Out came the local food for guests—yoghurt made from cow’s, goat’s, and sheep’s milk (happily and necessarily served with sugar), served from the pot in which it was made, hardened curd, and curdled cream from the yoghurt served on bread (I told JR we should be careful what we asked for).

The food was preparation for a ride in the valley, where we got a sense of what it was like to have been one of the Mongol warriors, who spent 20-some years on the road carving out the empire that stretched to the gates of Budapest. The ride, on a Mongolian saddle made of wood and smaller than the English leather saddles (ouch!), took us through a small forest (the trees were suspiciously growing in straight lines, and look like  they’d been cut to make the outbuildings and corrals that keep the herd separate)–the goats stay in the pen for milking purposes. We also passed a party that we later learned was celebrating, partly with vodka, the first mare’s milk of the season; when we went through they were using a pole with a lariat to lasso horses and rope them down, as well as one of the children. Twenty years in the saddle, even with time out for looting and pillaging, seems excessive, but two hours was fine. Still, my bottom was glad to be rescued by our guide and driver!

Dinner wasn’t like Scout camp, although we did have local food. We ate a sheep intestine dumpling that was much better than it sounds, and pasteurized yoghurt for dessert.

Believe it or not, we’re sitting around a campfire—the stove in our ger is lit—and I’m re-teaching JR Scout Vespers. Softly falls the light of day, as the song goes, and we’re fading away. Tomorrow we leave early for our return to Ulan Bataar, and on the way, we may get to ride a Bactrian camel. Try that at your Scout camp!

Was it less than 48 hours ago that we said goodbye to the students and to Carrie?

It seems longer, but when I tell you all that we have been doing (we being me and JR), I think you’ll understand my disorientation.

On Friday, we got up early (at least some of us did) and went to Liulichang, one of the few “traditional” streets left in Beijing. The students had a choice, and a number of them decided to sleep in, but I had a favorite tea shop there and offered the students one last opportunity to see Beijing…We took the subway, which always makes me feel grown up, and got to the street around 9:30.

Two of the students decided they wanted to wander, but the other (there were three) joined me and JR as we wandered down the street. Pretty soon we were in an art shop, and had a new “best friend” who was the owner; before we left, he’d sold us a few paintings, took pictures with us, and introduced me to his 2-year-old daughter, with the knowledge that I had a 2-year-old daughter grandson who speaks Chinese.

When we left his shop, a young lady came up to me with a picture she’d taken in her shop a few years ago, and said, “lao peng you” (old friend) I thought I recognized you. I’ve moved my tea shop. Come have a look.” For the next hour, we had a personal discussion/demonstration of eight different teas, a discussion of the world and what we’d done since we saw her last (she recognized JR—but everyone remembers him here), and, joined by the other two students who wandered by, left with teapots, tea bricks, and a better understanding of the tea business—and less Chinese money to change into dollars at the airport.

We met the rest of the students at the “Silk Street” store, which is one of the most touristy places in Beijing. It used to be an outdoor street mall that got enclosed into six floors of everything you saw in China but hadn’t bought yet (if you’re a tourist) including extra luggage, “North Face” items (says so on the label), and a variety of T-shirts, souvenirs, etc. It said a lot to me that, when I went to find lunch, all I could find there was pizza. Our guide remarked that the young Chinese don’t shop there because they’re embarrassed to be seen with fakes…..Intellectual property has come a long way in China, but it’s not entirely where many foreign companies think it needs to be.

We escorted the class to the airport, and on the way got a lesson from our guide (she’s one of the best I ever had) on why China is a “democracy,” even if it’s not like ours; “China,” she told us, “is efficient.” It may be true, but that doesn’t make it a democracy, we chided, but Ms. Love Country Love Beijing person (my Chinese name for her) would have none of it, reinforcing (albeit with a small sample size—1) what I’d heard about young Chinese being nationalistic and defensive about their country, especially to foreigners.

When we came back to the city, Carrie, JR, and I spent some time wandering around the outskirts of the Forbidden City. As I’ve mentioned, it’s much bigger than the parts that tourists usually see; parts are closed off—the new emperors live there—but the streets around it offer interesting shops and hutongs. We wound up in a temple that’s not on any guidebook list, but was once an ancestral hall where the emperors prayed—fairly typical of the kinds of things you can stumble into when you have time and a sense of adventure in Beijing.

Since our train was leaving at 7:40 the next morning, we got back and packed up for what I’d like to think of as my “reward” for the previous three weeks of shepherding students around Asia. I don’t think of it as work, but life becomes a lot easier when you have only two people to worry about.

The Trans Mongolian Express will be the last train ride for me this trip. Fittingly, it was the longest—30 some hours to go the nearly 1,000 miles from Beijing to Ulaanbaatar, the capital of what was once called Outer Mongolia, but is now simply Mongolia. The trip took us through the countryside—about 19 hours of it was on the Chinese side, increasingly high (we were over 5,400 feet at one point) and increasingly dry. One reason the trip was so long was that we spent 3 hours at Erlian, at the border, where the train was whisked away somewhere and the wheel carriages changed for the narrow gauge necessary for Mongolia and Russia (the Trans Mongolian express links up with the Trans Siberian Railroad at the Mongolian/Russian border, near Lake Baikal). By the time we crossed over into Mongolia (an hour stop at customs, naturally around 1 a.m.), we were in the Gobi dessert, which covers the southern half of Mongolia. It doesn’t look like the Indiana Dunes, but there was some sand—and a lot of grass (surprisingly) that fed a lot of horses and cows and sheep.

Mongolia is a big, but thinly settled country. I think our guide said it was 4 or 5 times the size of France, but the population is around 2.5 million, nearly 40% here in the capital city, Ulaanbaatar (meaning, “Red Hero”; it was Urga before the communists occupied the country in 1921). Europe has had several skirmishes with people from this part of Asia, and come out on the short end of it every time. The Huns swept from here to ravage Europe; so did the Turks; and finally, so did the armies of Genghis Khan. The latter has gotten a particularly bad rap from Europeans, who are not good losers, but in the 13th century the Mongol armies swept from Beijing to Budapest, and established a global village that brought religious tolerance to a world (or at least regions) that killed thousands for making the cross with two fingers instead of three, and a pax Mongolica that lasted until the black death destroyed much of the European population, and the successors of the Great Khan proved much less able than Genghis himself. The dynasty (Yuan) his grandson, Kublai, established in China barely outlasted Kublai himself, and in 1368, the Mings replaced Yuan (who took the seals and moved to Mongolia and tried to maintain the pretense of being the Northern Yuan dynasty). The Mongols pop up elsewhere later—Akbar, who united much of Northern India into the Moghul Empire, was a descendant of Ghengis Khan, and the Manchus brought the Mongols into the Qing Empire as another important non-Han member; Mongol was an official language of the Empire, along with Manchu, Tibetan, and Chinese. By 1911, the ties to the Chinese were snapping, and Mongolia eventually (after a crazy Baltic German, the Mad Baron, took over the country and proclaimed himself the successor of Genghis Khan—that’s the book I read on my Kindle on the way here) became a communist country to become independent of China (but not of Russia). It was heavily Stalin influenced; the Russian dictator, whose statue is in a restaurant in Ulaanbaatar (UB), something I’ve not seen elsewhere, found a henchman to bring the purges in 1937 that nearly destroyed the Russian Army to Mongolia; 100,000 monks were killed, and hundreds of monasteries demolished. Not until 1991, when the communists were overthrown  (The politics here are interesting. The leader of the democracy movement was assassinated in 1998; the murder is unsolved. The communist party, heavily backed in the more conservative countryside, won the last election. Urban democrats burned the communist party headquarters) was Buddhism restored to favor. It’s a Buddhism that’s a close cousin to the Tibetan version, and the Dalai Lama (whose title came from a Mongolian Buddhist) is revered here; our Chinese guide called him a “traitor.”

The Soviet period influence is obvious. The large square in honor of a revolutionary hero looks sort of like Red Square in Moscow, but the buildings are colorful (the national theater is pink, as is the stock exchange; the Post Office is covered with a two-story high poster for Coca-Cola) and have statues of Genghis Khan and his sons and assorted warriors. If you’ve ever been to Budapest, UB’s square is sort of like the 1897 square commemorating the 1000th anniversary of the arrival of the Magyars (probably from this area too) into Hungary. There’s also a Lenin statue, a statue to a Mongolian general who helped the Russians defeat the Japanese along the Manchurian-Mongolian border in 1939, a battle which the national museum here said convinced Japan to go south and attack the United States, rather than fight an enemy that cost them 70,000 lives in this Asia prelude to Pearl Harbor. We saw a lot of ger coming in, the yurts that we’re going to spend the next few nights in.

I said the train ride was our last. I may remember it fondly. The next two days will be on the road—to Karakorum, or what’s left of it. The Mongols, as nomads, didn’t build cities until after their conquest years. Karakorum was the first. The Chinese armies, however, responding to Kublai’s successors fleeing Beijing and calling themselves the Northern Yuan, leveled the city. Mongolia has been rebuilding it, but when we were there, only the 17th century Buddhist stupas were there.  We’re spending two nights in gers, and I may miss the train’s charcoal heated samovar (for hot water) and warm beds. And, given the roads, maybe the relatively smooth railroad beds.

Tomorrow is children’s day in much of the world, including here. Celebrate it for me in the United States.