Mongolia X Journal 15 // Mongolian Healing // Hail & rain lead me to a Shamanistic Healing // Where Roads have no names //

Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.
~ Helen Keller

Skirting the deserts, the arid Steppe grasslands run for thousands of kilometers in all directions. I am riding into the heartlands of Genghis Khan and his people. There are millions of animals, many more than people here, perhaps 10 fold. There are no trees but these desolate mountainous plateau landscapes snaked with rivers and streams are far from lifeless, there is a life blood here that cannot be beaten down or destroyed by mother nature – these flocks of animals and their keepers seem to live on, despite of their hardships on the land. I have encountered Mongolian Nomads on horses and motorcycles, the husband and wife often carry a child or even a newborn baby wrapped in blankets between them on 150cc motorcycles imported from China. When the Nomads ride their horses, their women are unaccompanied in the Gers while their men do the work of moving the herds of goat, sheep, horses, yak or camels – the women do the child care at home and also work round the clock milking, churning the cream and making their “arroz” cheese or rolling flower that they traded for into dough while preparing noodles. The meal we shared included some bits of meat and fat from one of their animals, but I never saw a single slaughter or remains nearby. The meat was dried in the sun, tied to a wall in a building, I saw hinds and legs of sheep skinned inside a roadside restaurant (and later in western Mongolia, the Kazakh’s places the meat on the wall, and they gutted their sheep on wooden tables outside stone, mud insulated and wooden houses inside Bayan-Olgii Province).

Food is provided by their animals in the form of dairy (milk, yogurt, cream, cheese, meat, fat, butter), there will be a trace supply of onion or potato traded for and brought to the Gers, along with satellite television that favored Mongolian and Russian sports (the summer Olympics of 2012 in London) or South Korean dramas dubbed in Mongolian and of course Korean K-Pop followed by Mongolian Rap music. There was a fusion of media culture brought into the Ger tent through satellite dish, solar panels and battery storage, but their food remained local and created through their own hands and care of their animals. The people, the animals and the land they live upon here, and the impending pressure of nature is all around them and these Elements as all so close to one another. Mongolians care for each other, welcoming their own Nomadic travelers and exchanging gifts, and they care deeply for their cultural way of life – the Ger as home, the 1.5 million square kilometers of open land where there is only national ownership in the sense that this is Outer Mongolian free range for their animals and citizens to live.

The rest of the country is composed of permanent settlements, towns, villages and larger cities and all of this fitting into 21 “aimags” or provinces with unique topographic and climatic changes to each one, mainly the Siberian northern borders filled with fresh water lakes and tributaries, the Steppe grasslands across the belt or girth of the entire country until the very western frontiers where Kazakh Mongolians have settled and called it home, the cuisine changes as does the cultures, but the fabric is still connected – Mongolian.

Today, I have cycled through valleys stretching 30-40 kilometers in length and 40-50 kilometers in width to the continuous belts of mountain ranges always seen in the distance. There is high visibility and other times intense sunlight beyond the cloud banks tumbling above me. As there is virtually no local air pollution out here and I sense coming from prevailing northwesterly winds. All this has a huge advantage, even a headwind is welcome from the Northwest, the Siberian winds keep me cool while mountain biking and although I am soaked to the bones in sweat traversing it all, I stand again today nearby an Ovoo, marveling at mother nature and the cultures beneath her amazing work – Earth and Cultures.

These big winds continuously turn over the land with varying velocities. As pillowed clouds roll in where you can only see the surface beneath them, and sometimes today they continued to move out of the scenery. The landscape is desolate and colored in faded evergreen, grass and sand colored soil paints the portrait that I am riding through. There is an occasional skull of a sheep, yak, goat, all animal skeletons bleached white from the UV light. I only found one half decomposed horse so far, it died and slowly the body of this departed creature was taken away by insects and predator birds flying overhead while I stopped to observe in silence. I wouldn’t die, so they left me alone throughout my journey. The flies of course were the exception, they always stayed with me – how could I feel bored when I cycled to stay ahead of the swam of flies, or needed more water – two preoccupations that became rituals in self-motivation and patience.

Storms brewed and the sky ahead fell dark, turbulent and thunder cracked after a flicker of lightning touched down to my northwest. I continued the route, this was calculated by a thin yellow line on my GPS, following the northern route. Rain fell lightly and the winds howled in my face, I pressed harder into my pedals and increased my cadence. The ritual of cycling is rhythmic, repeated and like a well-tuned engine – one that keeps on when the weather gets rough. Further over the brief mountain pass, I see thunderclouds gathering and the density makes them dark grey against the swirling cloud sky. The rain begins to fall harder and faster, I cannot beat this weather moving on the bicycle, I will run straight into it. A band of horses run wild across the field next to me, six of them running in unison with a single purpose. The dirt tracks turn to mud and puddles form instantly as the pitter-patter of rain continues to dance on my shoulders. I take out the Goretex shell but there isn’t time to put an insulating layer above my short-sleeved cycling jersey.

I ride further and pass a Herder on his motorcycle tearing the Earth between chunky tread tires heading in the opposite direction of the storm, he smiles to me through his big black Blues Brother glasses. I ride the rim around holes in the dirt road now filled with water, pitter-patter rain keeps coming until the decibals become so much louder like the roar of an engine, God is punishing me for traveling in his land – no man’s land. Then these heavy drops of water turn to ice and start to bounce off the road, and I see three Ger tents to my left, swerving the road’s holes and with a small leap, I bridge the edge of the dirt track into the green fields and continue to ride toward the Gers some 200 meters ahead. Rain and hail, wearing nylon shorts, a cycle jersey and a bare Goretex shell provide almost 0 protection, the temperature has dropped, it’s cold and I ride up past the roaming goats who get caught in the elements happening around me. Inside the Ger, I peep in and see about 12 Mongolian Herders gathered and then greet them. They invite me inside and there is no room, so I stand and explain my name, my nationality and they know how I am traveling as a few step outside into the holy hail and rain to see my mountain bike.

I am cold right now, but the rain stops finally and we step outside, I ask permission to camp nearby and need my tent (my Ger) to replace my soaked clothing – I feel a chill go through my body and I am fidgeting around awaiting their reply. When “Yes” in granted in Mongolian, I strip the equipment from the mountain bike and setup the tent. Before I have a chance to cover the tent net, the heavens open and soak myself, the tent and there is nothing else, only the ground beneath the tent doesn’t get a resupply of rains cleansing, so I pitch the rain cover over and stake the corners while the rain just comes down like cats and dogs, no mercy for me. I nod to the Mongolian Herders who returned to their tent after throwing me the rain cover from beside my packs, and I drag myself inside – inflating my Thermarest Pro Lite mattress to insulate myself from the wet interior and there I strip down to the buck and apply the ‘baby wet wipes” for another moisture shower. Afterwards, I have 1 pair of nylon hiking pants (blue) and another cycling liner shorts for underwear, I rotate the clothing I wear and wash them in streams every few days, I also put on a dry Brazil soccer shirt and thin fleece top and get inside the sleeping bag. All this happens on the dry area of the Thermarest mattress, while the Ortieb panniers are waterproof, I open and remove the contents I need, and close them back up folding their top lids. I sleep for a few hours and later the herds of sheep and goats return from their pastures, “baaa baaa baaa….churlch, churlch….eeee! eee!” These animals make all sorts of noises to communicate, and I wake in darkness. Finding the Cygolite 250 lumen as the torch, I light up the tent and find the water in the Ortieb ultimate control bag, I have about 5 liters stored in there, so I mix up some powered protein with water and get down to dinner!

The next morning the sun rises as it should, the dew soaks everything in sight but the interior of the Northface Tadpole2 tent was warm and comfortable, the island of Thermarest mattress kept the down sleeping bag out of the water, and I positioned the Ortieb panniers to block the puddles in case I moved during the night. Dawn came with inquisitive Herders, these Nomads that accepted me the previous stormy night – we had barely even introduced ourselves. I met a few Nomads, and was invited inside their Ger.

Inside the Ger something miraculous was happening, many more Nomads had gathered and several were holding a woman who was weeping and appeared emotionally-struck by some demon. With all hands on her and different voices carrying over her, she seemed pulled from the depths of her despair as she let out wails of agony punctuated by silence perhaps in her moments of sudden relief. It was Buddhism or perhaps Shamanism and the rituals involved many in the community standing by or being there to care for her and say supportive words, I took my place silently and sipped salted goat milk tea. There was also book-keeping being made, accounting and donations all in the hands of Shaman who attended to her and also spoke and invited me to join them there. Outside, I left my water bottles laying out on the ground around the entrance of  my tent hoping to find a source of fresh water from a stream nearby for refilling. Those bottles were taken away to a mound of donations under a tarp, it seems many had left offerings here, from solar panels to motorcycle parts, but I retrieved them and left some chocolate in their place. I believe the woman was healed that day, she mourned for something dear that had been lost or something deep that had afflicted her. With all these people in unison, it was a church, a temple, a spiritual zone and even I felt blessed – warmed by their pot stove, filled with warm goat milk and safe from the storms. Life is a cycle, we ride the highs and lows through it all and see where the road eventually leads us.

Thank you for reading my thoughts and reflections written while traveling across Mongolia on a mountain bike. I traveled for adventure and to learn more about cultures. More adventures are coming soon!!!!

Mongolia X Journal 10 // Landed in Eden // Campfire Song and a Nomadic Herder // Mountain biking in the lands of Genghis Khan

Undoubtedly one of the best sections of the course across Mongolia, was reaching “Eden” – a vast green Steppe grassland area with trimmed forest mountain tops, white Ger tents, their Nomads and flocks of goats, sheep and horses. My ankles are pulsing with pain right now, the swelling after days of punishing climbs too rocky to ride up. It’s the reality in a dream destination like this, to encounter some unforgiving days of physical torture that leaves the lungs stronger and ankles a bit worse for the wear.

“I think I’ve found “Eden.” This place is beautiful, completely awe-inspiring beauty in land and people.”

This spectacular location scenery is lush and full carpeted grassland. Sitting back in front of my Northface tadpole tent, I am spotting herds of sheep and goats, represented by white and black dots across the gentle slope of smoothed out mountains. I am camped between these panoramic sloping hills beneath sliced forests a kilometer away from Ger clans. Distant sheep and goat are tracking in formation as they munch their  way across Steppe. Slow movement is urged by distant honking and rumble of a Herder on a small single-bore motorcycle. Some have remained true to their roots in pastorialism, and keep their beautiful horses fit while herding flocks of up to 300 sheep and goats in a healthy stock. All seems perfect and serene for these Nomads living on the land without ownership. Nomads have learned these sustainable practices which are now foreign to the rest of us in the developed world of the West. However, there is one serious threat to this perfection in life forces at work here. Nature’s mighty weather and climate changes, can in a single season wipe this serenity off the face of these pristine inhabited plains.

Today, I am very fortunate to come across a Youth group and their Elders from Erdenet. They have a large camp  being setup while I am silently cycling past on these dirt tracks. Every hand in their group was pitching together to prepare a night of evening festivities. I am the lone wolf out here now.

Although I am tempted to make more distance today, I just put my head down and cycled further for a few minutes. I do not know what is waiting around the next bend or mountain climb to pass ahead. I just know there will be many. I’m tired and my ankles are swollen now, I need a serious rest. What’s ahead, could be anything from what I have encountered the first 7 days, another arid desert-Steppe plateau or will it be rocky and steep, anyone knows.  As I’m climbing toward this steep pitch of the dirt tracks, I turned to look back just before crossing over the horizon. What I can see is a flame flickers out of their wood, a campfire is getting started with light twists of smoke rising into the blue.

I turned and kept pedaling up the mountain for 2 minutes of exertion  I’m ready to collapse and wouldn’t let that “fire” leave my mind, I had not seen one anywhere, and I knew I wouldn’t see another “open fire” again for days. Mongolian Nomads cook on stoves with wood or animal dung, they wouldn’t waste it burning fuel without heating their homes and cooking at the same time. I turned back, pedaled hard for a few minutes and rode over to greet them.

At first, one university student didn’t like my presence at all, looking disagreeable about my visit, “You can’t stay here, goodbye.” I waited and tried to speak to others standing nearby. And when others came around, I explained what I was doing -quite simple, “I’m mountain biking across Mongolia for the summer and needed a safe place to camp for the night.” The rest of their group were agreeable, and I went over and found a spot to pitch my tent away from their circles. It turned out to be a fabulous night after all. A night of two campfires, meeting their Elders and all the Youth together, we sipped shot glasses of vodka, listened to music, the group sang traditional Mongolian song, again I was reminded, this is Eden. It was awesome and a welcomed huge relief.

Their Elders asked that I sit directly in front of them during the ceremony and accept the gifts of candy, sweets and drinks of salted goat milk that they offered me. I graciously accepted their offerings, reflecting, it was a stunning situation. I even drank “airag” or horse milk that was partially fermented and enjoyed it too.We stayed up late, we had the warm campfires, some student went off with my Cygolite 350 lumen to light up the camp and help others with cleaning up, the rest of us drank vodka in surprising shots from nowhere, as they slipped behind me as I filmed our fire. It was heavenly, and I went back and retired for a goodnight’s rest.

The next morning, the group packed earlier than I had even remotely planned to. Given the severity of of my anklescondition,I would give it another day here that wouldn’t hurt my summer schedule at all. I pushed extremely hard starting out and made good progress for the first 7 days without stopping except an overnight camp each night. I took the surroundings in, the safety and comfort of the green pasture land replacing the vacant deserted Steppe deserts I had just climbed out of days earlier – time for a break. I’m glad I did, except for the sunburn on my right leg, when I collapsed into a comatose in the late afternoon, my thigh cooked like a roasted wiener on a spit.  The weather was serene, although I do wonder in way worry about the conditions that all Mongolian Herders will inevitably face each year in the dead of winters.

Terrible situations can come from Mother Nature. These Nomads reflect introspection, gentleness of their people on their lands. Mongolians take care of their people, hosting other Nomad travelers.

They take care of their animals and are gentle on their land. Weather, however, can have adverse affects to their enduring and enchanted way of life on the Steppe. There are different severe winter conditions classified in Mongolia, depending on freeze/thaw droughts, heavy snowfall, or other factors – known as Dzud.  The 2009/2010 winter was one roughest on record for Mongolians, where an enormous amount of snowfall (200-600mm) covered the Steppe grassland, burying the grassland which is feed for millions of grazing livestock animals. As a result of this Dzud, it had devastating effect on Nomadic herders and their families losing a combined 2.1 million animals (sheep, goat, horse, cattle and camels) devastating their sustainable way of life which has endured into the modern times. Alternatively, many Herders who lost more than 1/2 of their flock resorted to urbanization as the solution, moving their Ger tents closer to the peripheral Ger districts of Ulaanbaatar, a city already teeming with development issues. The National Geographic Magazine wrote on this subject in their October 2011 issue located here.

Despite the recent climatic changes which devastated Mongolia Nomadic herding and affected families, these people are survivors and despite economic and climatic challenges being faced each year, they remain some of the warmest people in one of the coldest and remote places on Earth.

Today, I am recovering from 7 hard days mountain biking across the Steppe, a landscape as ever changing as the weather here – I’ve seen rain and sunshine, high wind and scorching sun. This variable topography is like nothing I have seen moving with mountain biking. Mountains and valley transform into plateaus and these crossings (Davaa, Mongolian) are the Great Divide of Central Asia. Regional borders have been drawn on maps, divided into 21 provinces (aimags, a Mongolian word used that means “tribe”). Most start traveling from the capital Ulaanbatar which is in the central province inside Tov Province. The harsh and breathtaking scenes witnessed while overland traveling through Mongolia are the countries main attractions, as are the Herder Nomads and their flocks of sheep, goat, yak, horse and camel – and a guard dog at every Ger village. I have grown accustomed to these animals and notice that goats are bold creatures, they will come right up to my tent, try to sniff or chew on a cable or pull the ropes staked in the hard ground supporting my tent’s rain cover. I can also hide up in the hills, isolated from view of others, and keep myself stocked up on water supply – the most essential piece of equipment.

A Nomad with a horse appears along the horizon, we greet one another in Mongolian, and seem to make a great connection today. I can’t walk so well, or don’t want to – my ankles are swollen and they need some rest. He joins me for figs and raisins, we sit in the sun and through Mongolian and body language – he demonstrates his skill for directing a herd of 200 goats and sheep through a pasture about 600 meters away. He whistles and he chants “Ack! Ack!” and these herds wandering over the stream in the valley between us and the larger mountains (Ikh Uul – large mountains), we watch them cross back over in order. These flocks are obedient and flow across the lush green pastures, a truly beautiful smooth movement of animals through an undulating landscape that someone painted green in portrait. He whistled and pointed to his two top teeth, they were replacement artificials, as he explained in body language and Mongolian that he had fallen off a horse on a hard dirt track and lost them. He couldn’t whistle without them and had them made. He also explained to me that he called the flocks back from their pasture across a river in the valley because he said the word “Chono, or pronounced “Chun” in the video I made while we sat together. He imitated an animal stalking it’s prey that I couldn’t figure out at first, thinking he meant another herder would steal his sheep, or I suggested it was a vulture. After some reflection on my journal and internet research, I know it was the wolf.

Thanks for reading my private journals written while mountain biking across Mongolia. More adventures are coming soon!

Family and the Expeditions of an Explorer – How two worlds are together and inseparable.

Family and the Expeditions of an Explorer – How two worlds are together and inseparable.

By

Brian Perich

I had some terrible difficulties finishing the Mongolia expedition this year, still only my second major challenge with a bike. What was the biggest problem this year with the expedition – Communication?

My wife of 9 years (10 years together), whom is South Korean, was a major factor in managing the expedition, what was the problem this year? When you consider the vast landscapes of the least populated country (per km square) in the world, you are resting thoughts on one of the most amazing places to explore – Outer Mongolia. Mongolia, where the terrain, remoteness of the Nomad clans and Ger tents dots the horizons, there in that paradise of a mountain, steppe grassland mystery, came the greatest problem I have ever encountered on adventure – a vivid gap between the family I created and love, the expedition I love, and between it all brewed a maelstrom of challenges for me.

I eventually overcame, but the worst of the flies, mosquitoes, sweeping rivers about to take my bike, or the locals who confronted me the following 12 hour day, turned my mind inside out, visions of my wife taking the children away, divorcing me over taking the expeditions, and leaving me in the dark, that desert I was in where I choked on mosquitoes and took refuge in my tent. When I had to strip down to the buck and wash myself like a baby because at 2 pm I couldn’t continue on, when the SPOT did not function, but I had a mobile phone signal from Bokmoron, I sent out distress messages to a friend James in Switzerland, and my wife Misung in Korea, but no one responded and I had to carry on. It was insane, I’ve never pushed myself so hard to get through, and the truth is, without family and friends behind the journeyman, the journey would end me. It’s not worth leaving everything behind, so I found that my failed preparation, lack of equipment to protect me, and last ditch efforts to cross Mongolia without a stove, fuel, pots, and even water filtration (due to the broken rear carrier rack…I decided to ‘make it – that I needed to leave everything behind except – 2kg of protein, 1.5kg of gatorade powder and high-potency multi-vitamin and mineral packs for 45 days.

I completed the expedition with the help of local Mongolian Nomad herders and their lovely families, I purchased non-perishable food goods where I could to trade for their chai-woo goat-milk tea, bread, butter, and cream, and the lovely hardened-dry “arroz” Mongolian cheese, a luxury because it’s one dairy I love, and it’s so expensive by the ounce in South Korea. I was cycling on cloud nine with the cheese and basic provisions until I came to other challenges. For instance, on 107km and 134km stretches of northwestern steppe, there were no Herders, Gers, animals or the sight of people settled anywhere along my route. The dirt tracks turned to sinking sand, and when I ran out of water stress increased (in my mind, I just wanted my wife to call, to text message, I sent 90 text messages and received about 12-15 from her all summer long…she was in denial the expedition was taking place, busy with the kids, busy with tutoring her students, and that took her mind off me…but I could not take my mind off them, my children Matthew 5, and Sierra just 2, and Misung 34 taking care of our household). Without human connection to family, I went into a famine for human connection that I knew familiar. Adding physical ailments, injured feet and ankles, walking the sand traps for 50-60km a day, or climbing out of high altitude desert lakes for 12 hours after days of diarrhea from the unpurified water every snot-nosed little child in the area was acclimatized to, started pushing me apart, my mental thoughts still surrounding my family the entire time, not so, the actual journey ahead. Injuries or falling ill days while I continued on antibiotics without clear water led to days I couldn’t ride, all Hell came to visit me in the shadows, fears and crevasses of my mind without a simple connection – my family connecting with me out on the journey.

Thus, the expedition was completed in entirety, but the prices I paid came at a high cost during the journey itself. I’m not feeling the same way, thinking the same (ideal) way, moving around my ordinary routine the same way I did before crossing Mongolia. I learned that fear can become too real, too terrible to relish the freedom to travel and explore. I learned to witness families of different cultures apart from my own, to accept life on these terms, to communicate, to connect with others, to become more tolerant of suffering because I had asked for it failing to fully prepare for it.

But in the end, I returned with greater love and affection for my family, I cannot express the gratitude I feel now just having them here, having children that love and admire me, as daddy. And when my son and I watched videos I made while traveling overland in Mongolia, he says with excitement and energy in his eyes,

“Daddy, I want to take a bike trip with you!”

I’m very pleased to hear this and can’t imagine he would enjoy going through all that I went through. But for this reason, I started taking expeditions on my own (starting at 38, last summer), and proving to myself that dreams can become realities with relentless passion driving the mission, in social circles (social media sharing) and with actually carrying out what I said I would in the end. Reaching the finish line, never felt harder or more rewarding, of course, for me, the biggest prize is having my family with me today. I’m certainly lucky to have this family expedition still going strong, and I will stay the course with them, growing older, learning about expeditions (windows of opportunity, sacrifice and amazing adventure), and building a future that I can hopefully share one day with my children, if they decide they would like to learn from the same school of experiential learning – being an explorer, like I am working towards today.

Brian Peric is a teacher, father and Adventure Explorer.  He lives with his wife and two children in Gangneung, South Korea. Read more about him at http://korean-world.blogspot.se/p/expeditions-adventures-1991-2012.html 

This article was originally published by Mikael Strandberg – Global Explorer. Mikael Strandberg was born in 1962 in Sweden. He started his professional career as an explorer 25 years ago. The multi-talented Mikael is currently working as an explorer, a lecturer and a writer. Mikael has also produced three internationally renowned documentaries for television “PATAGONIA – 3,000 kilometres by horse” and “THE MASAAI PEOPLE – 1,000 kilometres by foot” and his much awarded, “-58 degrees – exploring Siberia on skies.” To read more about Mikael Strandberg, visit his site.