After visiting the relatives in Deren our caravan traveled to an ovoo (sacred cairn) on the top of a hill not too far away. The Mongolians left offerings of milk, candy, vodka and incense, and added rocks to the pile, circling clockwise around the ovoo three times. The views from the hill of the surrounding countryside were magnificent with the desert spreading out around us in all directions, gently rolling out to the mountains in the far distance. After a picnic we headed back into town.
The car I was riding in made a slight detour first, though, to visit another family in their ger. Although at first I thought this was just another social visit, it quickly became clear that this stop was slightly different as two of the children began trying on clothes and polishing up their shoes. In fact, we were them with us back to Ulaanbaatar. After their mother had packed their bags the two brothers climbed with us back into the car and we were off!
We made a brief stop back in Deren for more tea and company, then started back home. On our way we made two very interesting stops. The first was a beautiful spot in a small canyon where gnarled trees lined the dry riverbed at the bottom. Although the grove was greener than the surrounding landscape, none of the trees was larger than ten or fifteen feet and many were dead or dying. One of the men in our party told us, "When I was a boy this canyon was filled with tall thriving trees, but the climate has gotten drier, and, eh," he gestured at the dry riverbed landscape and dead wood, "now these trees cannot live."
Resuming our travels once more, we made one final stop on the way home to fill up water bottles and refresh ourselves at a well. The fresh mineral taste of the water and its bracing cold provided a welcome contrast to the bright sun and dusty road.
Almost as soon as we got back that evening to the khot ail (family camp) where we were staying a dust storm hit. Luckily it was not a very long one, and blew over before we had finished our naps. When we woke up it was time to feast on some real Mongolian barbeque (called khorkhog). To prepare khorkhog you heat a bunch of round river stones in a fire. Then you place the hot stones into a big canister with fresh meat, vegetables, some seasonings and water. When everything is in you tighten down the lid of the canister, letting the hot stones and steam do the cooking. The result is amazing, deliciously tender meat. Before enjoying the meal, though, everyone gets a hot rock to toss back and forth in your hands, which has some therapeutic benefits and feels very nice.
After dinner we Americans went on a small stroll to digest and enjoy the sunset. Others around the camp were playing volleyball, herding back the livestock for the night and slaughtering a couple sheep for the city relatives to take back with them. The twilight air was so refreshing that none of us wanted to go back inside the ger quite yet. Arranging ourselves on some old tires and small stools just outside one of the ger, a small group of us sat chatting and enjoying the evening with occasional toasts of vodka. As others finished their activities and the light grew more dim, our group slowly grew larger. Finally, someone called for a song.
And so we finished off the night with an hour or so of singing. Thanks to our language teacher's insistence on learning Mongolian songs and customs in addition to the language, the singing allowed all of us a common ground, Mongolians and Americans alike. The darkness of the cloudy night--lit up only by the crossbeams of two motorcycles--and the common language and fluency of our songs made it oddly one of the most comfortable and unifying times of the trip.
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