20 Apr 2003 | In the countryside

Factory

Standing on a hilltop in the middle of rural Mongolia, which is basically everywhere outside of Ulaan Baatar, I was looking at a big sign with the text 'Tsagaan Nuur' in individual letters spelled out on top of the monument, in Cyrillic of course. To the right, Bakir, our driver, was calling one of his girlfriends, Hulan was in the car just receiving a call and the geeks were strolling close to the car, taking in the magnificent view and enjoying the hot sun and the blue sky from horizon to horizon. For miles around, the only sign of life were the miles long electricity cables running off to Tsagaan Nuur (White Lake) in the distance.

After our trip to Tsagaan Nuur had been postponed from our first weekend to the second, it almost was canceled again, after Hulan wasn't able to get in touch with Bakir. However, Thursday evening, Hulan gave us a call that in fact we were still going, but a day later as planned.
Tsagaan Nuur, a small village some 25km from the Russian border mostly inhabited by Kazakhs, is typical for many of the larger(!) settlements in Mongolia. Most households send out their children early in the morning to collect water from the well in the middle of the town, but we stayed at one of the richer families, meaning that although we had a water pipe coming in, there still was no shower and the toilet was a shack in the garden over a big hole that, in the spring's sun, was already starting to reek unpleasantly. Bakir's parents own a very large, at least to European standards, plot of land where several herders farm their animals and they themselves grow wheat. Additionally, the own a farm and are planning on making cheese in the near future.
I asked Bakir, Muslim, how he could pay his respects at an ovoo (a shamanistic offering location) like regular Mongolians. His reply was a nice variation of 'When in Rome...': 'I drank the country's water, I should follow it's customs'.

On the second day of our visit, after starting the day by emptying two bottles of arkhi (vodka), we visited some herders, rode a horse, had lunch prepared on the banks of the Selenge river and tried our hands at shooting empty bottles of vodka.
The visit to one of the richer herding families in the area was very interesting. Rich, here, is related to the number of animals a family owns. We were welcomed into a small ger where the men had to sit on the right and the women on the left, the entrance of the ger facing south. After the host offered us his snuffbox for some tobacco, we were giving milky tea made from blocks of ice, heating in the ger's central stove, together with small hardened blocks of curd. The couple's most important possessions were located on a small alter, in the back of the ger: two frames with pictures, an old Russian radio, the snuffbox and some small paraphernalia. The old man, after lighting a cigarette, told about his livestock, his pasture grounds and his family, flicking the ashes from his cigarette with his fingers. The biggest, and only, sign of any modern advantages being used by the couple, were the solar panels delivering electricity for the radio and the one light bulb, allowing for more productive and longer days.

In the evening, the 'boys' (that is, the geeks) went together with the 'men' (three locals, including Bakir) to hunt for deer. All in the comfort of a car, using a flashlight and shooting from one of the windows. The -20C outside temperature still required four layers, gloves and a good hat to brave the cold. The women were not allowed to join and Claudia, together with Hulan and Bakir's mum went crazy at home, downing several bottles of arkhi, smoking heavily and teaching each other Dutch, Kazakh and Mongolian songs.
We were successful in shooting deer. A fairly young and pregnant deer was first crippled and fatally wounded on a second shot. Custom demanded that we had to drink the deer's blood, mixed with Arkhi and even Ryan, a vegetarian, joined in the feast. Not that it was a very welcoming drink; the thick chunks of blood, mixed with the 40% alcohol made for a, well, interesting combination.

The nights were spent on the floor in communal bedrooms. One for the women, one for the men. I had the honor of using what seemed to be the only bed in the house but happily traded a spot on the floor with Henry for our second night. Not that it was all that bad since the continuous refilling of our shot glasses made us sleep as fast as possible, only being awakened by Bakir's mum singing in the morning.

Tagged with: blood geek hunting Kazakh Mongolia vodka

Factory
Empty
Food is good
No, its not mine
Kid, Henry, Bakir, Babak, Ryan
Learning it early
Lunchtime
Bakir
Three ladies
One for me
Handing over ammunition
Downtown Tsagaan Nuur
Palm trees in Mongolia
Claudia and Hulan
At an angle
Lonely ger
Petting allowed
Picking up water in the morning
War games
Battle site
Preparing
Two bokkies
Dinner?
Rolled up ger
Through the fence
Busy morning street
Car trouble in little China
Claudia, Hulan, Bakir
Steppe
Its busy in the countryside
Walking around the ovoo
Kill it!
Flags
Camera shy
Babak walking off
Made it
Camel trophy
Posing
Strolling up
Henry with a little one
Wheelie
Shit!
Through the fence
Claudia at an ovoo
Bakir family home

About

  • Me

After obtaining an M. Sc in maths, Babak Fakhamzadeh started with an office job at a major blue chip company but soon realised he'd do better on his own. Babak is a traveling web guru with a penchant for doing good and a love for visual and experimental art. Together with Eduardo Cachucho, he won the World Summit Award in the m-Tourism and Culture category in 2012 for Dérive app. With Ismail Farouk, he won the Highway Africa new media award in 2007 for Soweto Uprisings . com. Check out Babak's CV.

Contact

Babak is currently in Brasil.
+55 219 6557 5388 (Brasil)

September/October 2014

23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
01
02
03
04
05
06
07
08
09
10
11
12
13
14
17
18
21
22
23
24
26