The food was presented in five-gallon plastic buckets, which I recognized as having held the dried peaches we measured out into the bags of food for the needy families. They looked reasonably clean, so no problem. Inside the buckets, we found a pile of little folded-over pies, like a fried pie at home, but smaller, and I'm not sure they had been fried. They were steamed, I think. Another bucket held a lot of the very thinly shredded cabbage and carrots that we have seen before at dinner back at our hotel. It's hard to describe. There is a dressing but it's clear, not mayonnaise-y like our slaw at home, and the taste is very mild, but pretty good. We saw a stack of little pink cereal-type bowls sitting on the floor, and gathered that they were our "plates." Forks stood in a cup next to them.
I got a bowl, and by using another small bowl as a scoop, I scraped the top layer of the slaw off to one side (in deference to the flies) and scooped up a serving for myself, putting it in my bowl. Then reaching underneath the top layer of little pies, I chose one pie and went off to a corner (hard to do in a round ger) with my lunch. There was a slice of bread also, and after taking a bite of it, I decided I probably wouldn't eat the bread again. Hard, dry, coarse, and not a lot of taste to it. I ate my slaw, and nibbled at the little pie. Hmmm. Not bad. Not bad at all. It was filled with meat, which we were told was classified as MUO. That's Meat of Unknown Origin. Not very reassuring, but it was tasty, and I forced myself to forget that it could have come from any one of a number of different animals, including yaks and horses. I ate my little pie, and decided that perhaps I had room for another one. Ate that, too. I was hungry, for pete's sake! We stayed only a few moments after finishing our food, then walked back to our tent, gnawing on a handful of dried peaches, and carrying a bottle of water. Bottled water has been abundantly available to us so far.
We have seen another 30 or 40 people each so far in the afternoon, and they're still coming in. A huge dump truck comes grinding in, and people spill out over the sides. Someone assists a feeble old man with badly bowed legs, and hands him his crutch when he's safely on the ground. He's proudly wearing his del, and a little round derby hat. Hats, as I've said, are all the rage, and they range from Aussie-style canvas hats with rolled-up sides, to baseball caps, to Panama Jack styles, to Bing Crosby straw hats, to one tall silk top hat.
It is mid-afternoon, and suddenly there is the thudding of hooves, and in rides Genghis Khan himself. He is taller than most Mongols, dressed in blousy, purple satin trousers, a turquoise satin shirt that is made like the top half of a del, and one of the colorful, pointed Mongolian hats. He ties his horse to a nearby tree, strides into the camp, and someone directs him to the intake tent.
In a half hour or so, I look up to greet my next client, and realize it is Genghis Khan. He sits down on the bench in front of me, and I look into a ruggedly handsome Mongol face, and see that while his eyes are basically brown, they have lights of those peculiar green/gold colors in them as well. Very unusual eyes. I see also that the whites of his eyes are very red, and his eyes are watering. He doesn't smile, but rather maintains a rather severe posture. I get his blood pressure, which to my surprise is normal, and then my experienced little interpreter, Biamba, asks him what his problems are. He speaks for the first time, looking directly at me. His voice is very soft and gentle, and he speaks in a respectful and earnest manner, pleading for help. It's his eyes, he says. They are very red (he's right!) and they itch and burn and make tears all the time. It bothers him very much, and he hopes there is something we can do to help him. I'm very happy, because we probably can. We have allergy pills and eyedrops in our pharmaceutical supply. I tell him this, and he smiles broadly. A Mustang escorts him to a doctor's ger, and he's on his way to comfort.
A bit later, as we're about finished with everyone, he reappears, all smiles, and asks if Biamba and I would like to sit on his horse and maybe take pictures. Well, I suppose so!! Biamba was as thrilled as I was, and we each got on the horse and someone used my camera to take pictures. Genghis Khan held the horse, I think he didn't trust us, or maybe he didn't trust the horse, but he never let go. No problem. A Mongolian saddle is not the most comfortable thing I ever encountered, and though I'm usually quite comfortable on horseback, I felt very insecure and off-balance. The saddle is placed quite far up toward the horse's neck, and is made so that you don't settle into it, but rather perch against the high cantle. The stirrups are short, and the whole effect is to keep you almost standing, leaning over the horse's neck, and feeling very much like you could just pitch right over his ears at any moment. Later we learn that this saddle design came from the days of the true Genghis Khan, and was intended to make his warriors, who were probably of rather small stature, appear much larger and more imposing, as they rode into battle standing up and leaning over the horse's head.
Finally, the day ends. No more people arrive, and we finish the last one and send him to the doctor's tent. We pack up our equipment and leave the tent for a very welcome potty break. Our potty is a tiny gray tent with a zippered door and a small chemical container. It serves the purpose.
We have time to stand and enjoy the beauty around us. The sky is incredibly blue, the mountains to the west of us are awesome, the air is clean and fresh. We're camped on the bend of a swift river, and it looks inviting, but I'm sure it would be icy cold. The whole effect is one of beauty, peace and serenity. I mentally compare it to my own home, and remember the smog, the traffic, and the neighbor boy's booming car radio, and I wonder why anyone would want to live there. I know, of course, that it's home, it's what I know, and it's where my family is, but for just a moment, I have to wonder.
Finally, we are ready to leave, and we climb aboard the vans and start down the rutted road. A mile or so out, a jeep which has been following us since we left the camp suddenly passes us, bumping over the open plain. It contains a group of Mongols who are dressed like herdsmen, and I recognize the driver as a particularly charismatic man whose vital signs I had checked earlier.
The jeep passes our whole caravan, and takes the lead. Someone remarks that he was just getting out of our dust, and that seems reasonable. Not so, however. At some point, we realize that our vans are no longer on the same road we came in on, but rather are following the jeep over a barely discernible track over the plain. No one has a clue where we're going, but we don't really care. One road is just as rough as another, and besides, we're surrounded by breathtaking beauty everywhere we look. So, we just settle back into our seats, try to hang on and keep from being bounced through the roof, and wait to see where this mysterious man in the jeep is leading us.
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