MIR Corporation's Travel Log:
Trans-Siberian Railway - Days 11-12: UlaanBaatar

MIR clients Helge Pedersen and Karen Ofsthus ride the rails of the fabled Trans-Siberian Railway from Moscow to UlaanBaatar on MIR's Trans-Siberian private rail journey as they check in from each stop with stories, photos and video.

• Days 1-2: Moscow
• Day 3: Moscow, Aboard Train
• Day 4: Kazan
• Day 5: Ekaterinburg
• Days 6-7: Novosibirsk, Aboard train
• Days 8-9: Lake Baikal, Irkutsk
• Day 10: Ulan Ude
• Days 11-12: UlaanBaatar

July 11-12, 2008

Starting Location: Ulan Ude, Russia

Ending Location: UlaanBaatar, Mongolia

Total Distance Traveled: 3,891 miles (6,263 kilometers)

It's funny how the living of life teaches about life. At least that's what I was thinking when just moments away from the finish line, I saw the three-year-old "Soloyon" horse pitch forward on its face and go down, slamming his eight-year-old rider to the ground. Hard. The three-day long Naadam Festival in Ulaan Baatar Mongolia, an amazing spectacle of culture, skill, honor and pride, was in full swing, and we were privileged to see and enjoy the annual celebration of centuries-old traditions.

The festival's full title is Eriin Gurvan Naadam, which translates as the "three manly games," highlighting the strongest wrestlers, fastest horses and expert archers from all over the Mongolian countryside. These skills, critical to the nomadic warriors of Genghis Khan's army, still produce heroes to this day.

Genghis's warriors must have been good at their jobs, because in the early 1200s, they helped him conquer two times more land than any other person in history. And he only had an army about 200,000 strong. Building a growing Mongol Empire, Genghis and his warriors swept across the open Eurasian plains, conquering riches and land extending from Moscow to Kiev, Baghdad, the Persian Gulf, the Pacific and south to China. It's said that his "Golden Horde" had a strong ethical code. They did not take slaves or torture people. They did not attack anyone from behind. Their message was simple: submit and you will survive. And for those who did not submit? Well, they razed villages and cities to the ground, leaving no one alive. Period.

Seven or eight men rushed out onto the racecourse, set upon the rolling green hills of the breathtaking Mongolian steppe: the same land that Genghis had so hard won. Pushing and pulling, they tried desperately to get the chocolate-brown horse on its feet, as more horses and their diminutive, silk-clad riders thundered by, just seconds from the finish line. Its legs flailed in slow motion in the air. An ambulance arrived to check on the jockey who had been pulled out, dusty and beaten, from under the animal.

On the day before, we had watched the opening ceremony from the field just steps away from the action. The opening ceremony resembled a mini-Olympics affair. Warriors dressed in bright red and blue military uniforms rode in on steppe horses, sitting proud and tall on beautifully carved Mongolian leather saddles, while the Mongolian national anthem blared in the background. Dancers in brightly colored silk tunics danced center field while 60 teeny-weeny contortionists, raised ten feet high on multi-colored lotus flower floats, bent and twisted in unison. These little girls, clad head to toe in bright stretchy leotards looked as if they had no bones. Well, I'm pretty sure they had no bones. Archers rimmed the field, giving us a good look at their beautiful clothing: a rainbow of silk brocade robes, leather belts with intricately carved silver buckles, and engraved leather boots, elf-like with their pointy tips. They were marvelous to look at. The best part, however, was the fashion show.

There was an army of women enrobed in the most beautiful outfits I have ever seen. Representing historical national dress from different provinces, they took center field walking slowly and proudly in their glorious garb. Fox and sable fur trim and hats adorned many outfits. Long robes in earthen colors of finely embroidered silk with capes and beads, headdresses and towering hats slithered by no more than ten feet away from us. There was so much detail and variety in the wardrobe feast, it's quite impossible to describe. Mongolian nobility, they were absolutely breathtaking and they ushered in the beginning of the games.

There was silence in the crowd, then crazy cheering as a live, big-screen view showed the first two-year-old horse, or "Azarga," crossing the finish line. Horse races are determined by the age of the horse and the age determines the distance to be run: anywhere from 10 km for a one year old, all the way to 33 km for six-year-olds. Horses of the same age run together, all ridden by children, some as young as five or six.

Over 40% of the 2.4 million descendants of the infamous Genghis Khan still live on the vast Mongolian expanse in gers: round tents about 20 square feet in diameter and made from a birch lattice frame and covered with several layers of thick sheep wool felt and white cloth. The ger and the steppe horse are national symbols and mainstays of Mongolian culture. They're seen together on millions of postcards and brochures. Children learn at a very early age how to ride, some of them before they can even walk. Each race can have several hundred participants and most have come from the far reaches of Mongolia to enter their best steed and cross the finish line first. Even more come to cheer them on.

Through my binoculars I could see the men struggle with the horse. The boy, number 120 pinned to an azure blue silk shirt, was unhurt. Lucky for him. His horse, however, was immobile now and dying. I couldn't help but wonder what the horse had been thinking and experiencing just before he collapsed.

The race had been a long 27 km, and he had been running full out the entire time. Perhaps he wanted to slow or stop when he realized he was tiring, but the herd was running, and staying with the herd is critical. And his jockey really wanted to win. The horse probably didn't know that, had he won, he would be showered with mare's milk and adorned with blue and gold silk. He couldn't know that national pride was on the line and that the boy and his family would be known over the entire country. Certainly he wouldn't know that as a winner, he would ride with his boy into center field amidst much respectful song and chant, to stand before Nambaryn Enkhbayar, the President himself, and receive much praise and a medal to be hung from a silken sash on his forehead. The boy and his family would have loved and honored him that much more.

This honor I saw bestowed by the President upon the winning wrestlers at closing ceremonies, their eagle dance and display of strength and prowess complete, the crowd wild with applause. Tsetseg Dondognyam, a 59-year-old National Champion in archery and 11-time winner, described to me the importance of earning honors at Naadam. Bea, our guide for the day, knows Tsetseg, and arranged an interview with her while she trained her eight-year old grandson on the archery field. After my many questions and her fascinating history lesson on Mongolian archery, she let me try out her bow.

Made from the long, curved horns of the Altai mountain goat and laminated to a core of soft birch wood, the bow is wrapped in animal skin, then bound and glued with what looked like a type of thick fishing line. The bow is quite fragile, so Tsetseg takes extra care not to leave it in the sun or cold too long.

I tried to pull back on the string, needing some Popeye muscles to do it. I don't have Popeye muscles (though her eight-year-old grandson apparently does). She was patient though, and showed me how to properly use my thumb, with the aid of a bone thumb guard. "Without that," she said, "your thumb will look like this." I grimaced as I glanced at her purple and yellow thumb tip, dented with permanent scars and pits.

Like the few other National Archery Champions, Tsetseg wears a beautiful Mongolian cap with a sharp silver tip and two red flags dangling from the back. The tip and forehead medallion, along with the golden bars on the flag tips, indicate her status and number of wins. Everywhere she walks, people know who she is and what she has accomplished. She has earned a lot of respect from her countrymen. She patiently spent over an hour with us, generously giving her time and sharing her story. I have to say we felt honored and lucky to meet her. All of this - the beautiful costumes, strong wrestlers, amazing archers and general festive atmosphere, helped to take my mind off the horse I had seen dying on the ground.

There was nothing to be done. It only took about three minutes for the horse to die from complete and utter exhaustion: he had run too hard for too long. It affected me profoundly. Sadly, there wasn't even the slightest possibility that he could have won, as several other horses had already crossed the finish line before him. The boy's father, (I assume it was his father), arrived on horseback to pick up his son. The horse's saddle was removed and the animal was left where he lay. The tiny crowd surrounding him walked away without turning back.

I was heartened by the sight of another man on horseback approach and dismount. He knelt and removed a few strands of hair from the dead horse's tail and mane, then remounted and slowly rode away. I can only hope that this was some type of deeply respectful gesture. With heads hung low, Dad and son rode towards the crowd and crossed the line of Mongolian soldiers tasked with keeping the crowds at bay. I could see that Dad had been crying and number 120 was composed but distraught - there was a furrow of worry etched on his brow. That was when my new friend, Munhzaya, a gregarious girl who had befriended me earlier in the day said, "the living of life teaches about life." She was only 15, but so sweet and kind and wise: she made me feel a little better about the sad death of the beautiful horse. I hope that one day I can return to Mongolia to spend more time with these friendly, wonderful people.

A ride on the Trans-Siberian Express is a ride of a lifetime. Over the course of 4,198 miles, we clacked along in luxury, seeing vast expanses of Russian and Siberian forest and Mongolian steppe, having wonderful adventures and meeting some extraordinary people, both among the locals and among our traveling companions. Helge and I have always wanted to take a long train ride and we've been very fortunate in our experience. The living of life does indeed teach about life...we learned so much during this adventure. We would do it again...in a heartbeat.

Photos from this leg of the tour:

A ger set on the beautiful Mongolian countryside		Genghis Khan sits astride his horse in UlanBaatar's main square
Genghis Khan, ruler of Mongolia's Golden Horde		Handsome Mongolian military at the Naadam Festival
Let the games begin! Opening comments by Mongolia's President		Gorgeous headwear
A beautiful Mongolian girl		A young archer takes aim
As soon as this wrestler hits the ground, he's out!		Young boys riding in a 27 kilometer race
Karen has found a new friend at the Naadam festival.		40% of the population still live in traditional gers

A slideshow with more photos from this leg of the tour:

To start the Slideshow, click once within the frame above, then click the PLAY button at the left of the menu bar. You may also slide your mouse pointer along the timeline to view individual photos.