fillingthegaps

There is no doubt about it – the realisation that my Wanderings were soon to come to an end, put a damper on my spirits. So much so that I could not raise the enthusiasm to write my last blogs while still in Italy. So here I am, almost a week later, sitting in my study in Titirangi, Auckland, New Zealand determined to tidy things up, and write my final blog.

Italian is such a poetic language and it’s words seem to have a rhythm quite unlike the rest of Europe. Consider the place-names we’ve encountered over the past day or so: “Masera Rutolo” the name of the farmlet we stayed at; “Alberobello” – the town with the “Trulli” (more of them later), then on to “Bari” . Maybe it’s because so many Italian words seem to end with a vowel, seeming to invite the rolling-on of more lilting words in a cascade of sound that defies separation into individual words. But for the Italians, the expressive language is not enough! No, the words need emphasis and expression through the flamboyant use of hands, arms and indeed the whole body! Watching Italians in conversation is indeed quite a show.

But I digress. Our last restful day at the farmlet was rudely disturbed in the late afternoon by the arrival of a rain storm, accompanied by most unseasonal gale-force wind. We saw it coming, but even so, the wind caught us by surprise and Rob and his team had quite a wrestle to prevent the awning from being wrenched out of the side of the van.

 Once that was under control they took the opportunity to give the vans a wash. As you can surmise, the temperature stayed warm, although the effect of being soaked and in a strong wind did cool the team down to an uncomfortable level. In the evening the storm had cleared, and R and R went to the restaurant for a meal. So overpowered by the quantity of food that Rob had to come and get me to help them finish it off. Needless to say, I was happy to help out.

The next day dawned bright and clear once more, and guided by the trusty GPS we meandered through some bumpy lanes,

 past lush vineyards

and on to the main road towards Bari. But thanks to the efforts of our researcher, we went via Alberobello, where we were to find the mysterious Trulli. We arrived in the town just in time to encounter the congregation streaming from the town’s cathedral – we were like a pair of cumbersome salmon valiantly struggling to swim upstream against the prevailing traffic.

But our drivers are getting hardened to this sort of situation and so took it more-or-less in their stride, until we reached a parking spot in the lee of of someone’s garden wall. A trullo had first appeared in isolation in a field, as we drove by. We were fascinated and stopped to take pictures.

But our researcher had assured us that there was a whole neighbourhood of Trulli, in the town we were approaching. And she was right. A single dwelling is a Trullo. More than one are Trulli. And we came across a hillside full of them!

 All in current use, although reportedly several hundreds of years old. I quote:

“The older dwellings date back in the 13th century although the majority of them are only 200 or 300 years old.”

“According to another theory, the construction style of Trulli is based on the standards of Syrian and Middle East residences; while the first Trulli were built in Apulia as houses or tombs of monks who settled there from the East. Later, the locals adopted the construction method, and adapted these structures to their daily needs. Another similar view claims that Trulli firstly built by soldiers returning to Apulia from the Holy Land Crusades.”

We spent an hour or two wandering around this intriguing township

 before driving on to Bari.  We had no set spot for the night, so we ended up in a very large and well-lit car-park next to a super-store for Home Products. Very safe.

 We did a quick trial run to the railway station before settling down for the night.

The next day was to be my last day with the family. As far as we could tell, this town had no special ‘must-see- features and so we elected to have a quiet day. Bari is quite a major port – but past experience had taught us that it would be futile trying to find a park for two motor-homes anywhere near the water front, so we drove to the super market instead and did some food shopping. We stayed in the car park for lunch – parked in the shade of the arches of a railway bridge. While the ‘littlies’ had a rest, Rob and I ventured off in the smaller van to look for a Hardware store and a bike shop we had seen on our way in. You could say we are slow learners: it was not until we had fruitlessly driven around for a while that it dawned on us: this was Italy! Siesta time! Nothing would be open until 4.30pm! The sight of a shuttered shopping area in midday is somehow quite depressing. All shops have steel pull-down shutters over their shop fronts – and the shutters are all liberally defaced with graffiti. Rubbish blows loosely along the gutters and not a sole is to be seen.The impression is one of a deserted ghost-town. Oddly enough as we drove past this area later in the evening, all the shops were open, lights were blazing, people were everywhere and the place was quite transformed. But in the harsh light of the noonday sun it had looked very different.

For our last dinner together we went into a Pizzeria next to the supermarket and had a good feast on Pizzas. Two middle-aged couples were intrigued by the sight of so many kids (shades of China) and plucked up courage to ask (by dint of many unintelligible words and much hand-waving) the usual questions: are they all yours? where are you from? etc. They were most friendly.

After the inevitable strictures placed on space, quietude, and diet consistent with living with a family of 10 in two motor homes, the past week in Canada has been almost surreal. In the most pleasant of ways!

Pre-conditioning for the time in Canada was achieved by spending 2 days alone with Eldest Daughter, zipping up to York (UK) and back to Heath Row, using a very swish hire car and staying in very comfortable accommodation. Then we flew to Ottawa and were met there by L’s old school friend, & whisked away to her parent’s spacious home in a delightful, tranquil, wooded and rather exclusive part of that city.

There I was given the exclusive use of a large bedroom complete with sauna and en suite and a large library to dip into! What luxury! Our hosts were erudite and entertaining; their hospitality gracious; their conversation wide-ranging and enlightening. It was a really relaxing and enjoyable time. And I even managed to get in a short bike ride, alongside a quiet bike path beside the river.

But that was just the beginning. From Ottawa we drove several hundred kms to the Grandparent’s  “seaside cottage”. We had been warned that this was not exactly a cottage in the British sense of the word – but the reality still hit us smack between the eyes and left us reeling in semi-dis-belief.  This ‘cottage’ turned out to be a beautiful mansion, part Mediterranean-Italian, part art-deco in appearance, set at the upper end of  gracefully sloping farm and woodlands.

Well-manicured lawns, shrubs and flower beds gave the grounds a park-like appearance and the croaking of frogs from the nearby swimming swimming pond provided a rural soundtrack as a backdrop to this little corner of Paradise. We did not see them but we were told that the local wild life often drops by to keep an eye on things: fox, wolves, deer, an occasional moose, not to mention squirrel, chipmunk and moles.

And again I found I was assigned a large bedroom all to myself with a balcony overlooking the garden, the woodlands and stretching out to the Georgian Bay part of Lake Huron. This area is prime Vacation Land in this part of Canada, and it is easy to why. In the summer, sailing, windsurfing, fishing, golf, tramping and cycling are all available within a short distance. The facilities are superb and the people warm and welcoming.

Good coffee is to be had in cosy coffee shops and superb ice cream is also available!

Nearby orchards provide a plentiful supply of fruit in season: apples, pears, nectarines, cherries, strawberries  and blueberries. Local entrepreneurs bake these up into the most delectable pies. If I wax rather lyrical it is because this really is a blessed corner of the world and it was a joy to be immersed in it for a while.

And again our hosts showered us with blessings. I have been quite happy to sleep on the floor of a Mongolian Yert, a Kowloon couch, the hard bunk of a train in China, the seat of an all-night bus to Berlin, the floor of an attic in Estonia and so on – but who can deny the pleasure of having a large comfortable bed all to yourself and to be woken by sun streaming in across the walls of a large, beautifully-decorated room, with the prospect of descending to a sunny breakfast room replete with anything your taste-buds could desire? Yes we have really been blessed by this marvelous interval.

Now I have left Daughter: I am on the Trans-Canada train

heading for Vancouver (in 3 days time) and D is spending another week with OSF and then heading back to NZ (and WORK) I am just a day into this trip and am having a great time. I have a little one-man cabin – most ingeniously designed and very comfortable.

I have 3 meals provided – good meals too, I might add. And  as much tea or coffee and muffins as I may care to eat in the interim! I have already met such interesting people at the dining table – what extra-orrdinary tales the most ordinary-looking people have to tell!

And so the journey continues. I am looking forward to the rest of this train trip, then a  few days in Vancouver, and then back to the UK to take up where I left off, with the Intrepid Travelers, back to the Motor Homes. Bye-bye luxury – hello more adventures!

I am writing this at about 35000ft in the air, moving at very close to the speed of sound. And taking it all quite for granted. But in the last few days we re-visited one of the places of my childhood- in the days when 300 mph for a fighter aircraft was really something – and flying at the speed of sound (or over, as many now do) was not even thought about. (well, maybe by the boffins)

We had left the wild beauty of Tintagel and Clovelley and made our way back East to the more prosaic Weston-Super-Mare and now moved on towards Stratford on Avon, heading to the Midlands. But on the way we purposed to visit some spots I had fond memories of, as a teenager. First was the house of my aunt, in Chippenham in Wiltshire, where a whole bunch of cousins stayed when things got a bit too dangerous back on the edge of London where we were living. 3 families: 9 children plus their mothers, plus a lodger all crammed into a fairly small 3-bedroom semi-detached home. We stayed there a couple  of times, once for about a year and also for a holiday, if my memory serves me right. Well we were passing close by, and with the aid of Rob’s trusty GPS we found the street once more. It seems that every house we have lived in is left to decay in later years. A neighbour informed us that the gentleman that used to live there had just gone into a home as the place was too much for him. As clearly it was, with peeling paint and weed-infested front garden. But this was the place of many childhood memories and it was rather nice to see that it was still there, and likely to be so for many a year to come.

Then on to another place of happy memories – Cheddar Gorge, which I had cycled up a few times while bike-touring with good mates, and had later cycled up again in training as a racing cyclist while in the RAF at Locking, near Weston-S-Mare. It was even more of a gorge than I remembered and we were all quite spell-bound by the magnitude of it.

Then on to the famous caves at Wookey Hole, but oh, what a disappointment! The place has now been turned into an Entertainment complex, with the caves and the hand paper-making almost an add-on to the games parlour etc. And the charges were exorbitant. So, we gave the caves a miss, and consoled ourselves with an ice-cream instead.

One last place before we turned North? Yes we would Make the time, and so we pressed on to the cathedral city of Wells.

We and a picnic lunch on the green sward in front of the Cathedral and took in the beauty of this ancient town.

Finally we headed North and made our way to the home of Bill Shakespeare – Stratford-on-Avon. Fascinating to walk up old cobble-stone streets and see houses that were built 400 years ago, still going strong. A little bent here and there and a sag or two evident – but at my age I can relate to that with sympathy.

The incongranuity of the Asian Ice-cream seller next to William Shakespear’s birth[lace struck us forcefully

We stayed in the front yard of another friendly couch-surfing family who let us use all their ‘civilised’ facilities. The next day my daughter and I were scheduled to leave the happy band of vanners and drive a hire-car to York. Meanwhile the tribe were scheduled to go and visit Warwick Castle on the same day. But overnight the heavens opened up and the morning dawned grey and very wet. Our trip to York was still on, but the Tribe were left to re-schedule their activities.

Rob drove us to the car hire place where I was expecting to pick up the smallest, cheapest, Ford they had on the books. But when I checked in I discovered that they had no record of my on-line booking. The only car they had available was a streamlined rocket  – a VW Sirocco. And it was virtually brand-new! (sorry – no picture) The increase in cost was minimal and the rain was still pouring down, so I did not argue!

Our plan was to head East until we connected with the M1 and then high-tail it Northwards to York. I thought it might take about 4 hrs max. But we are getting quite used to our progress on the road being frustrated by circumstances, and this day was no exception. It rained and rained and with the rain came slow driving and accidents. We didn’t actually see any accidents but we encountered slow traffic and detours all the way up’ We had hoped to arrive at about 3.0pm. Instead we finally checked in to our B & B at about 6!

The only good thing was that it had finally stopped raining, so after a quick cuppa we were off to explore the city. And an intriguing, historic city it is. With the Minster

With a sturdy Wall encircling the old city,

with ancient buildings leaning crazily towards each other

and ancient cobbled streets

and fascinating architecture on every corner

we were totally enraptured by York.

Then the tummies started to rumble and so we had a bite to eat. Coming out of the restaurant at about 9.0pm, we looked up and down the narrow streets and made a guess as to which way was ‘home’. We both agreed on a direction and started walking. To cut a long story short, after we had passed the same three bridges 4 times, and found a helpful bill-board map, we wearily reached home at about 11.0 pm. It had been  a long day!

Where is Estonia? you might well ask. Just as NZ is frequently confused with Australia, so Estonia is coupled with Sweden, Finland and ‘all those funny little Baltic countries’

Well we have ended up in this country for a few days – and we are really enjoying it. Population is just 1.3 million and even though the country is tiny, it has one of the lowest population densities in the world. We are staying at a ‘Drop-in centre’ in the capital, Tallinn.

This town is clean, neat and tidy and has excellent bus and trolley-bus services. It also has a fascinating Old Town center which dates back to the 14th century. It’s fascinating to see buildings this old, not preserved in a museum setting, but in daily, normal use as shops and commercial premises.

The Old Town has a real charm and character, and despite a temperature which has been hovering around the 5C with a strong cold wind, we have spent a bunch of time exploring its narrow streets and interesting architecture

Today a few of us went back to check out a glass-blowing  studio and we were treated to a display of an artist creating a beautiful goblet. The process was not a quick show for the tourists but we saw a serious artist at work, creating a thing of beauty, It was well worth the 4km walk in the bitter wind!

The place we are staying is really another story of its own. This is a ‘Community Centre” fully approved by the town council and recipient of all sorts of grants from various EU bodies. It is run by a group of young Estonian Idealists (“Greenies’ to the core) and they say they have the active support of the neighbourhood.

All sorts of people drop in here (including 11 Kiwis) and they are an interesting assortment. There are Australians and a variety of Estonians and other Europeans. The other day we met a Rip-van-Winkle character with a beard that put Jamie Nicholls’ to shame. He claimed (to the children) to be Santa’s Helper but in conversation with him, it became evident that he moved in fairly exalted political circles and was passionately involved in promoting Conservation and National Cleanup days, to beautify the land. It seems he is in demand as a speaker in various countries. He looked like a Swagman, with his bundle of belongings over his shoulder, but he was a man of impressive intellect. However we were not too swayed by his philosophies which included being everywhere while he was asleep and being able to commune with others just by our thoughts!)

This place is bizarre! In the back yard is an Indian Tepee; in the cellar a group are running a bicycle repair business; inside, the walls are peeling and un-papered, but hanging on them are some excellent photographic prints (an exhibition is in progress we are told) When we cooked dinner the other evening (as is the norm in a Couch-surfing place) people came out of the woodwork from all directions and I counted at least 22 bodies loading up their plates!

The building is wood and must be over 100 years old.  It has a cellar, two floors and a huge attic which we are occupying. They threw down sheets of particle board on the day we arrived, and then came up with a pile of mattresses which has meant that we are all very comfortable. You can see daylight through the roof and the end gables, but surprisingly it is not that cold.

It has a toilet, a shower and a washing machine, so we are certainly not complaining! Within the next week or so we hope to be living in a couple of motor homes, which should start a new era in our wanderings.

Watch this space.

We were only going to be here for 2 nights and we did not expect to see too much of the Russian Capital. How wrong can you be?  We arrived at about 3.30pm – skies were overcast, the temperature was struggling to get above zero and the wind wasa blowing strongly. It was freezing! Fortunately we were met by a delightful couple with their 3 children and – most importantly- a van!

Our packs were quickly stowed into the van, and I would like to say  that we were whisked away to their apartment. But ‘twas not to be – first we had to purchase rail tickets for our next leg to St Petersburg. This turned out to be incredibly difficult and frustrating. I haven’t the time or patience to tell you all about it: suffice to say that the procedure took over an hour; they would only sell 8 tickets from one booth, they got all our passports tangled up and we ended up paying full fare for everyone and at least 4 times as much as we had budgeted for. After that the van drove off with our stuff, and we went for our first trip on the Moscow Metro. The most elaborate Underground system ever! You felt like you were raiding somebody’s Crypt. Efficient, decorative and very noisy.

After 40 mins or so we emerged above ground to be greeted with light horizontal snow. It was still cold! And walked to the apartment – the usual ugly soviet concrete block with crumbling exterior and dungeon-like interior. But the apartment itself, though tiny, was warm and inviting.We were quickly at home, and digging into large bowls of steaming soup!

We thought we would get an early night after spending the previous 4 on a train, but our hosts had other ideas and insisted on taking us to walk around Moscow’s Exhibition Centre. We got there about 8.pm and did not get home until late. needless to say we froze ourselves stiff!

After a hearty breakfast the next morning we thought we could take a quick look at Red Square and  get the kids home for a nap. But no… We got to the Square around midday then started a long trek to see the Kremlin,

Ivan the Terrible’s castle,

Red sq the changing of the guard,

a few cathedrals, the State Department store

 and a mall where we found some food. Then on again for a walk alongside the river and a look for more cathedrals. We walked ourselves to a standstill. Then another trip on the Metro to get home

here at the Anak Ranch we have been enjoying idyllic Spring weather:  bright blue skies, tiny wisps of  occasional cloud and warm, warm sun. The breeze has been light or non-existent, It has been beautiful. Crisp in the morning and evening but comfortably warm during the day. As I said-idyllic.

When we were at the second Ger in UB we experienced a brief but fierce sandstorm. This in a way prepared us for the storm we had at the Ranch today. At one moment farm activities were going on as normal and in the next instant we noticed a sudden scurrying activity around the  place. Looking over in the distance we noticed that ominous grey/black clouds hugged the ground, and there was a sudden stirring of the breeze. Sandstorm coming! Almost before we had registered the fact, the wind was starting to howl: eyes,ears, throat and hair were suddenly filled with choking dust. But the real concern was for the stability of the gers. The heavy calico sheath which holds the thick felt walls and roof-cladding in place, can act like a sail in fierce winds. The sheath can lift and shift out of position, so the race was on to ensure that all the tie-down lashings were  doing their job and holding things in place. One of the significant dangers is the likelihood of the covering moving into contact with the steel flue from the fire, which sticks up through the centre of the roof. So there was much heaving tugging and re-tying of the lashings – all done in the blinding choking sandstorm, and with temperatures dropping rapidly.

And this was no 2-minute wonder. Ties storm raged and howled around us for several hours; everything shaking and rattling as if to send the ger into a flying bundle of cloth felt and matchwood. But the gers held firm. unfortunately the wind was too much for the power lines feeding this area, and  suddenly we were pitched into total darkness as power poles toppled over.

So we finished our dinner by candle-light, with the  storm continuing to batter us. Nothing to do but get to bed a bit early. We noted, as we took our late-night trip  to the deny that there was sleet in the wind, mixing with the sand. So still no romantic snow fall for the kids!

By the way, the ger was rendered safe by some swift action from the local staff. Two of them entered, carrying a pickle-jar full of water and some string. Wordlessly they put a stool on top of our table and the tallest reached up and tied the jar of water to an eyelet set in the top frame of the ger. Then they departed. We speculated on this at some length. Maybe it was a fire-extinguisher – if the ger collapsed, the jar would crash and break on top  of the firebox; maybe it was a steadying weight, but surely it was too  light? Final consensus was that it must be related to some local folklore. Enquiry in the morning confirmed our speculation: this is a traditional safety measure. Since water is heavier than air, this jar of water would prevent the air from lifting our roof off!

So this was a timely reminder that Spring is not fully here, and WINTER HAS NOT COMPLETELY DONE WITH US.

Another day, another ger, and my mind was not in a good state. Living in gers had left me feeling grubby; in need of a long hot soak in an antiseptic bath solution! Our next stay is to be at the Anak Ranch: a ranch-type setting where the accommodation is again in gers – my apprehension was intense, and my sense of anticipation was less than eager.To get to the Ranch we boarded a ‘local’ sleeper train at 9.0 pm. Paying for 2nd class tickets we found ourselves booked into third class carriages. These are the ’bare bones’ 6-to-a cabin-section sleepers designed around the midget fraternity. To add insult to injury, an attendant turned up with pairs of sheets (nice, we thought) for which we then had to pay extra. Since we were getting off further up the line at 4.0am (yes 4.0 am in the middle of the Mongolian wilderness) we said we could do without them. But no, regulations insist that we must have them, and pay for them! Fortunately a friendly Mongolian lady who could speak some English came to our aid, and we managed to sort things out. (it still cost us!) The same lady also arranged to get us some blankets, which were much appreciated as the thermometer plummeted through the night, and the train heating was turned off!

I was particularly grateful because I was doused with icy water in the early hours of the morning. How? Well I went to the toilet, as one does, and no sooner had I locked the door than an icy shower came from the ceiling, soaking me front and back almost to the waist. Leaping aside with credible agility, I looked up to see the shower continuing to descend from a vent in the ceiling. I thought initially that this must be some sort of automatic cleaning sequence rather like the Eco-toilets around Auckland. Then I reminded myself-this was Mongolia! I concluded that this was the heating vent and that the heating must have just been turned back on – the resulting air blast shifting a couple of litres of cold condensate out of the system, and all over  me. When I got back to my berth, Rob was awake and I gratefully accepted his offer of the blanket. Fortunately since the humidity in this country hovers around 20% I dried out before we had to get off the train.

We had been warned that our transfer to the ranch would be either on horseback, horse-and-cart or walking  for 20-30 mins. The prospect was a bit daunting-a walk at 4.0 am with the temp sinking a fair bit below zero, but we were prepared for it as we had been anticipating this for many months. Imagine my delight to find a car from the Ranch waiting for (some of) us! The bulk of the packs and my trusty wheeled case were transferred to the car’s cavernous boot &back seats. Rach, ER2 and I climbed in beside the driver, leaving the rest to be led off into the dusty blackness. The air was decidedly nippy and we were glad not to have to ‘enjoy the experience’ We rumbled and jiggled our way for 20 mins in the car, in total blackness, the way ahead appearing as a well-worn, undulating  cattle track, snaking its way through the darkness. Arriving in total darkness, the driver cleared us and the packs out of the car, and silently disappeared. We thought of the pioneer party back at the railway station. In our minds, a 20 min drive equated to at least an hour’s walk for them! Someone appeared from out of the darkness and led us out of the frosty night into a ger with a blast furnace roaring inside. It must have been close to 40C in there. By the time we had sorted out where the packs were to go and who was likely to sleep where, the remainder of our group came trouping in, having been collected by our trusty driver.

So much for our horse-back ride in the night! We were quickly learning that our Host was quite a character with an impish sense of humour. He was larger than life, but we were to discover that this man and his Mongolian wife have carved out an impressive facility by dint of hard work and entrepreneurial flair. Flippant on the surface he was, but a shrewd hard worker lurked beneath. Rachael has described our early encounters with this man, as he terrorised and then charmed the kids back at our hostel in Ulaanbaatar

But back to the re-assessment. Here the gers (we have 2 of them) are virtually identical with our two previous encounters, but they look and  feel much more at home. As with all  Mongolian ‘houses’, they sit in a fenced enclosure, but here there are 4 or 5 gers in the enclosure, and over the back fence is the majestic sweep of the  ‘Steppe’(?) leading across to  the mountains.

Here the gers look and ‘feel’ right, and we are all loving being here.The kids are having the time of their lives, getting involved with the animals on this ranch. The ranch is not remotely ‘touristy’. They aim to give you a taste of life as they live it themselves –if you don’t like it then that would be just too bad. The gers are situated next to  what is the ranch ‘corral’ set-up.

They have an interesting assortment of animals on the ranch: goats and sheep of Mongolian variety, all with new kids. Also cattle and young calves and  selection of nags, working horses, which the children are getting more and more confident in riding. They have been helping to feed the young animals, milk the cows and shovel endless mountains of cow manure – and loving every minute of it.

The older ones have also taken a  keen interest in the cooking and have been assisting and learning a lot about  Mongolian food. We are really enjoying the copious amounts of fresh boiled milk straight from the cows, pl;us the yoghurt and cheese.After a period of travelling almost constantly they are loving being anchored in one place and having the space to really let their energy loose.

All our meals are provide and usually the Owner comes into our ger and shares the meal with us – sitting comfortably on the floor and entertaining us all with his endless tales of adventures in various parts of the world. You would hardly call him a steadying influence on the children: his language is colourful and his stories of encounters with other people leave the kids chortling with ‘illegal’  glee.

We are the only guests at the ranch at this time. This is the ‘off’ season – most people preferring to come when Spring has really greened the countryside and before the intense heat of the summer makes life uncomfortable again. This is a harsh environment. Temperatures drop to –40C in the winter and can hit +40C in the summer. Rain comes at the end of spring and into summer, and then switches off for the year. They don’t get pretty-postcard snow here-soft flakes floating gently down to cloak the countryside with its magic. Here snow comes as wind-driven sleet – well and truly frozen before it reaches the ground. There the wind sweeps it into frozen drifts of unyielding ice. Not too pleasant. The humidity is incredibly low – usually around 20% The air dries out your skin, your nose and your throat and leaves your body full of static electricity: when you walk close to Tgirl4’s fine blond tresses – they stream out to you like a golden spider’s web. Yesreday we had a beautiful summer’s day and everyone was running around in summer tops. Today the skies were leaden and the wind was like a knife. Sleet was in the air and most laid low in the ger until the sun broke through this afternoon. It was still cold – but the kids were anxious to hone their horse-riding skills!

In short, we are having a ball. This family is now certain they have to have a farm when they get back to NZ. THey love the animals, they love horses, in fact Kgirl10 has decided horses are even better than cooking or dolls We will be quite sad to leave this remote but beautiful corner of our world. But but we have more adventures ahead, so that softens the parting pangs

I have to confess   – life in a Ger is not for me.

Let’s try to find the positives: you get to live with the indigenous people. Certainly the family in the first Ger were nothing short of inspirational. The family in this (2nd) Ger are different – and do not rate in the ‘positives’. Then there is the locality – there is the outlook across the wide Mongolian plains, At this time of the year they are just recovering from winter’s icy blasting. Grass is short brown and shriveled – if it exists at all. This terrain may look beautiful under snow, or when the grass is shooting up in all it’s greenery. Right now the outlook is bleak, barren and lifeless. Not really a positive.

What about the amenities? Well in the first Ger, from your enforced crouch position in the ‘dunny’ you could see a glimpse of the rolling hills in the distance. There is no enforced squat in this dunny – it is just an open shed-like extension off the end of the decrepit wooden building the owners call home. The view is unobstructed as the dunny is doorless  – an open vista spreads before you. The malodorous gathering heap beneath your teetering tail does not bear inspection – but you have to check in case some beast is lurking down there to drag you in. No, sorry – not a positive. Ahh but I was too hasty in my judgment. We have since discovered two very civilised sit-down dunnies in a very tidy shed – complete with lights . So that was a positive.

What about a shower to freshen up? H’m well of course you don’t find piped water in a Ger and in this one there is no hint of a jar of water in sight. One hopes there will be a basin in the adjoining house.

We have just dragged out all the squabs and duvets and beaten the daylights out of them to remove as much of the Gobi as we can, and we do have ‘beds’ to sleep on. So we should get some sleep. This Ger is obviously built a lot lighter than our previous one: a Susuki vs a Volvo. You can tell by the way this one shakes rattles and rolls in the wind, that this one does not have the layers of felt cocooning you from the elements raging outside. Our hostess told us that tomorrow they are taking one of the two gers down. From the look of things as I write, maybe the one we are in may beat them to it!

Our hostess is a German lady who has apparently lived here for the past 9 years. She has a Mongolian husband and (I think) 2 children. She is something of an oddity, as I guess you would expect. Living in a Ger with a Mongolian husband is not the norm for the average Fraulein. She is what we would call a ‘hard case’ having a brusque but friendly-enough disposition; a colourful vocabulary and a liking for a cigarette in her mouth most of the time,  The husband keeps out of sight. Not being able to communicate may be rather restrictive. Sabina is clearly using this system of housing guests to supplement her income. The food Rach bought yesterday for our dinner has mysteriously shrunk to half size. the lollies she bought seem to have disappeared!

She drives a car as a ‘taxi’ to supplement her income when necessary. The Taxi service in this city is a little obscure. When someone tells you to get a taxi they mean get out on the street and just eyeball the drivers. The ones available are looking out for you and will pull over. Meters? You’ve got to be joking. Sabina’s ‘car’ has to be seen to be believed. We have all had a ride in it so we know what we are talking about. It used to be some sort of Hyundai but has long ago passed its prime. Missing door handles, (which mean only the driver can actually get out of the car un-aided)missing window winders, rear view mirror and anything else that could fall off. The brakes and clutch work with vicious, snatching  efficiency. The shock-absorbers gave up the struggle with the pot-holed roads long ago and so the ride is bone-jarring every inch of the way! Every jolt is accompanied by crashing sounds from the remains of the boot. Later inspection reveals that the wrap-around rear bumper assembly is hanging on the rest of the car by the skin of its teeth, flapping and clashing with every new jolt, and useless shock-absorbers rattle their bones in a frenzy of frustration. The steering linkage would appear to have lost all bearings and bushes as the steering wheel is wildly swung this way and that, taking up the slack to avoid pot-holes or even to maintain a straight course. A drive in this car is not for the faint-hearted – but we have survived.

Dinner has been had, and I have to report that camel-meat tastes pretty good. Blended with a delicious vegetable stew it went down very well. My thanks to J14, Rach and hostess, who seemed to be preparing it in shifts. Kyle did the washing up squatting on the floor of the kitchen in the house, and before I forget I should pass comment on the ‘welcoming’ nature of our hostess. Having abandoned the cooking process she lit up a fag and settled down to play solitaire on her battered old computer. Solitaire is usually a quiet game but this lady evidently finds loud Mongolian music helps sharpen her acuity. So with music blaring, cigarette puffing away and with back firmly to our guests, she left us to it. Not that we were looking to be entertained at all, but it was a bit strange being in the same room and being treated as if we were not there! 

Now we are all settling down to get to bed. It;s a bit off a squeeze as we have 6 cots to sleep 11 of us. Mum Dad and some kids will be ‘sardined ‘ onto 2 beds stacked together and others  top and tail. Being an old fogy I have been granted the luxury of  a cot to myself. The cots are hard planks. the padded coverings are thin so it looks like being a not too deep sleep tonight!

To add to interest, we had a bit of a sandstorm this afternoon. We have been getting accustomed to clear blue skies for weeks on end and it was something of a surprise to see the skies darken. Then the wind got up and rapidly developed into a mini-gale’ With the wind came the sand. This quickly blotted out all the surrounding scenery and all but the closest objects – filling the eyes,ears and nose very quickly. The elements were endured long enough to take a few hasty pics

and then I retreated to the safety of the ger. Fortunately the storm was over quite quickly, but of course the dust remains. The dust is in every thing: your nose, eyes, ears and hair, not to mention your clothing, the floor you walk on, the stool you sit on, the table you eat from and the plates you eat off. Our Hostess and family had long stopped fighting the elements and wore grimy clothes with hands and faces to match. There was no evidence of any discomfort with this situation, which I found disconcerting.

On the plus side, we did get to witness the taking-apart of a Ger – something nomadic Mongolians did on a regular basis as they shifted their herds of goats and yaks to new pastures. The process was surprisingly speedy and relatively simple, as the accompanying photo-essay will reveal.

What the pics do not reveal is the clouds of dust which accompanied every new layer peeled off the unit! It took something like 3 hrs to pull the whole thing apart, and apparently it should go back up almost as quickly. Not bad for a finished, livable house.

Our next move is to a Ranch, where we shall be living in a couple of gers for a week. At this stage I am fervently hoping that things will be better than this last!

Firelighting – Mongolia style. Learned a new lesson this morning.

The firebox in a Ger is sturdy steel box, about 400mm square and 300 mm deep: a drop-down opening at the front and a series of removable rings on the top for easy ‘stoking’ access. The chimney is a 150mm pipe that goes up through the roof of the ger at its apex.

I tried lighting a fire in this box last evening. I scratched up some paper and carefully laid the kindling on top, intending to add some coal when the wood was well ablaze.  Futile hope! The paper burned half-heartedly and failed to do anything to the kindling. This morning Martin’s wife called in and observed that it was  a bit cold. ‘why don’t you light the fire?’ I told her that we did not have any paper to light it. ‘Paper?’ she looked puzzled. What would you need paper for? Where is the candle?’

 Now what would you want a candle for – it wasn’t dark! Ah, all was shortly revealed. She broke up a few sticks of kindling – producing some pieces with splintered ends. These she stacked  carefully at the mouth of the fire-box. Then she lit the candle and held the flame under the splintered ends of the kindling. Quickly the kindling was ablaze and shortly after that she added coal to the back of the fire, via the top loading access rings. The whole procedure took just a couple of minutes. To complete the lesson she then stacked the remaining kindling criss-cross fashion under the rear of the firebox to ensure a speedy drying process. It was a very educational interlude.

NZ’s OSH would have a fit if they had to inspect a Ger. A firebox sitting in the middle of the room – sometimes but not always sitting on a plinth of bricks. The flue which which gets blisteringly hot, is quite unprotected and pokes up through a hole in a wooden panel in the ‘roof’.

There is only one small door into the ger.

There is no provision for an emergency/alternate exit. A  fire in one of these things would be quite catastrophic. Everything in it is tinder-dry so I imagine they would go up in flames very quickly. However, this same design has been used for centuries and no one seems worried to issue safety precautions of any kind, so I guess the safety record must be reasonable. 

I suppose one of the things that travelers fear the most, is getting sick when you are in a strange place : miles from the comfort of your own home and the proximity of your GP if required.

Well it has to happen if you are on a year-long sojourn, and right now our accommodation in this Guest  House resembles a sick-bay in the Crimea.

Oh we are not dreadfully sick, but enough to stop us in our tracks and opt for rest rather than expeditions. Still we have a room with a view:

We have traced the source of our discomfort to the “Horseshoes” we ate a couple of nights ago. Having run out of time to cook our own meal we opted for the extravagance of eating at a small restaurant nearby. As it happened they were about to close and all they had left were these ‘Horseshoes’ – a local favourite which resembles a Cornish pasty without the veggies. They were tasty enough, although on reflection we realised that they were quite oily.

During the night, Lboy8 decided to divest himself of the dinner – I guess his tummy was the most sensitive. The following morning we all awoke in varying degrees of well-being – all feeling decidedly jaded. Since then a few more have thrown up, some have a case of the trots and some are already recovering and the hardy ones are finally wilting. Not a happy troupe of warriors!

Actually I was rather hoping that we could have traced our ailments to a bug picked up in the Ger. Then I could have used that classic Toyota ad. expression – “Bug Ger!”, but that would have been stretching the truth a bit.

So here we are holed up in our ‘pension’

 and actually we are quite comfortable. As accommodation goes, this is one of our better spots. The view from our window is of the playground in our little square  We all have a bed each. (come to think of it, that isn’t quite true because RnR sleep on a couple of thick duvets on the floor!) We also have a small kitchenette with a small range-top cum oven. We also have our own toilet, bath and shower – and the toilet is a real sit-down job. How your appreciation of the basics sharpens as you travel!

We are very close to the city centre which has a large square as its focal point. It is flanked on one side by the Parliament building (or whatever it is called in this Communist state) and on the other side by ornate theatre and cultural buildings. All within easy walking distance.

The truth is, we are just a little wary of walking around in this rather lawless city. Oh we are not staying holed up in fear of venturing forth, but when you walk you are conscious of the repeated warnings from all quarters, to watch out for pick-pockets, don’t go out after dark etc etc. The Proprietor here spent half his time when registering us to warn to on no account open our door to anyone, keep doors locked at all times, don’t go out after dark and so on. Not quite the ‘Welcome to our country’ touristy thing you might expect.

This is the lock on our front door

We have had this unsavoury aspect of Mongolia re-enforced by practical experience. On our way back from the market, travelling on a very crowded bus, I lost my camera (out of it’s case) to a light-fingered pick-pocket. Later that same day a couple of fellow-residents got mugged in the main street in broad daylight. Just now Rach returned from a quick trip to the local ‘Supermarket’ and on the way back, observed a guy lift  a packet of cigarettes out of a street-sellers display, and move quickly on his way.

Rach thought about pointing out the theft to the stall-owner, but since he was busy urinating onto the side-walk from his sitting position) she felt the time was not quite right! So  these sort of things take the edge off free and easy exploring of the city.

Really it all boils down to local knowledge. I am sure the local, law-abiding citizens lead an untroubled life, knowing automatically the do’s and don’ts of the city; avoiding parts which could be troublesome and using transport means that they know are hazard-free. We in our ignorance blunder around, and sometimes have to learn the hard way. But it’s all part of life’s experience and the kids observe it all with varying degrees of understanding.

Well I started this off as a sick-bay report, but I am pleased to say that as I finish, there are only two resting in bed: the rest have bounced back to their usual boisterous selves. I am aware that there people covering us with their prayers, and we are conscious of His provision and protection on a daily basis. We are grateful to you all.