WE LEAVE OUR FRIENDS

It's early morning, and as instructed, we have dragged our luggage into a central area, to be loaded onto our bus. We go to the dining room for our last meal together here in Darkhan, and eat quickly, because we must. Otherwise, we'd probably linger over the tea and coffee cups, as we're all feeling a bit pensive, thinking about leaving the friends we've made here. This country, these people, have a way of getting a strong hold on one's heart. I will miss them.

After breakfast, we make one last trip to our rooms, make one more check to be sure we've forgotten nothing, and avail ourselves of the facilities one last time. I don't think I'm going to miss our bathroom.

Downstairs, the last of our luggage is being loaded into the bus's underbelly, and people are milling about, delaying the boarding as long as possible. Hugs are exchanged with our interpreters, over and over. We have given them small gifts, including some Beanie Babies, and the girls are holding theirs. BatBubba is wearing the Texas T-shirt Eloise gave him. We are becoming very aware of how much we're going to miss these bright young folks who have been at our sides since we arrived, facilitating and making possible everything we've tried to do here. One more round of hugs, the wiping away of a few tears, and finally we board the bus.

BATBUBBA IN HIS TEXAS T-SHIRT

FAREWELL TO MOOGI AND BIAMBA

With much grinding of gears, the bus lumbers out of the parking lot, and we are on our way to Ulaanbaatar. It's going to be a long drive, and we fear it won't be as much fun as the first trip. On that one, we had our enthusiasm and anticipation to help the time pass. This time, we are dealing with nostalgia and reluctance to leave this land. We drive over the same landscape, but there is a bittersweet quality this time. We know more now. We pass some gers, and they no longer seem so mysterious and exotic to us. We know that they are simply a house, a home to a family of nice people, who work hard and just try to make a living the best way they know how. We know how lovely the gers are inside, and how comfortable, and how very practical for this part of the world.

As we're driving over the beautiful Mongolian countryside, I'm suddenly struck by the thought that if I don't get pictures of some things now, I may never get them. I mention that I'd like to get a picture of an ovoo (pronounced OH-woe), but by the time I realize that we're coming upon one, it's gone before I can get the camera focused. Somehow the word gets to the driver, and without warning, he pulls over on the shoulder and stops the bus. There is a lovely ovoo on the other side of the highway. I make my way across the aisle to a window and get a great picture.

AN OVOO ON THE ROADSIDE BETWEEN DARKHAN AND ULAANBAATAR

An ovoo is a very interesting manifestation of the religious background of the nomadic people of Mongolia. Buddhism is strong there, but there is a lot of animism as well, which involves shamanism, superstition and reverence for gods of nature. Travelers in Mongolia build the ovoos, these piles of rock and sticks, a little bit at a time, as they move through a given area. The idea is to leave an offering, thanking the god of the mountain, or the pass, or the valley, for allowing the traveler safe passage. The offerings usually consist of a stone, or possibly a stick or piece of wood, sometimes even a small trinket. The blue strips of cloth, as I understand it, represent a prayer of a more specific nature. After leaving the gift, the traveler walks around the ovoo three times in a clockwise direction, and then goes on his way.

Some ovoos are enormous, fifty feet or more in diameter, and may be taller than a mounted rider's head. These huge ones may be more than a hundred years old, as this custom is an ancient one. This particular ovoo was about ten or twelve feet in diameter, and about two or three feet tall, not counting the poles. I saw one that was so tiny it would have been completely unnoticed, had it not been for a couple of blue strips of cloth tied to a twig. It contained only three or four small rocks stacked together. I suppose everything has to start somewhere.

As we approached the midway point, it occurred to me that a rest stop would be very welcome. Then I remembered the infamous rest stop, regretted my last cup of tea, and silently hoped that we would stop at a different place. We didn't. Oh, mercy. We stopped at the same awful place, with the same awful little hut, and the same awful stench hit us as soon as we stepped off the bus. The first time, I was able to convince myself that I could make it to Darkhan, and I did. This time, I knew I could never make it to Ulaanbaatar. I am seriously regretting that last cup of tea now. There was no choice. I joined the pitiful little line of equally desperate women, and made my way toward that miserable hut. It's amazing how polite and courteous we all became, each one urging everyone else to go ahead and go first.

Finally it was my turn, and there was no one left to send on ahead of me. Nothing to do but enter the wretched hut and take care of business. I took a deep breath of the stinking air outside, because I feared it would be worse inside. I made it last as long as I could, but inside the hut I finally had to breathe, and learned that I was right. It was worse inside. I realized that I really missed our bathroom in Darkhan. As I stood there, over that gap in the floor, my purse strap slipped off my shoulder and to my great relief, it caught at my elbow. I hung it around my neck, because I knew if it ever fell through that gap, it would just have to stay there, passport and all.

After about ten years, I was ready to leave the little hut. Since I hadn't yet died of asphyxiation, I took the liberty of snapping a picture from the doorway as I left. I'll spare you the sight, but I have the picture, if anyone is interested. I walked across the parking lot toward the bus, pausing to let the prevailing wind blow (I hoped) some of the smell out of my hair and clothes. Those of us who had braved the perils of the little hut were understandably a bit smug as we boarded the bus, and can be forgiven for being unsympathetic toward those who chose to complete the ride in a state of discomfort.

The rest of the ride passed uneventfully, and finally our bus pulled up in front of the same hotel in which we had stayed upon entering Mongolia. It's nice, the rooms are clean and comfortable, and it has a real bathroom!!! Eloise and I are sharing a room this time, which is fine with us. We have only a short time to clean up and be ready to go, because Omar has a couple of events planned for us this evening. It sounds interesting, and we can hardly wait.