The Mongolian Steppes

            I look at the ground in front of my plodding feet. The long grass is very green like the rest of the Mongolian countryside. Hills, trees, everything is green in the broad daylight. But the time of day is changing. Evening is beginning to fall, and that changes the colors. The hills that I am walking toward have changed from the smooth green to more of a rough golden hue. The ground changes under my feet as I cross the road. Calling it a road is something of an exaggeration though. It is really just a pair of tire tracks that cut through the grass extending in either direction as far as I can see. Right in front of me is a telephone pole that is only one in a series that runs parallel to the road. Once I walk by these though, the signs of human existence are all behind me.

            Shrubbery begins to appear. At first it is barely longer than the grass. But it begins to climb as I do. I glance at the plants, and begin to wonder which ones could cause me harm. Earlier one of the guides had warned be about stinging nettle. We were on the way to fetch firewood from the nearby grove. Next to the camps the river that watered the camp had carved a hill in the plateau. A short distance downstream the grove bridged the river, where there was a plentiful supply of fallen wood. I was climbing down the incline when my guide pointed to a plant and informed me that it was stinging nettle. There was such a mixture of plants in the general vicinity however, and I never figured out which one to be wary of. So as I was climbing the hills on the opposite side of the camp, I did my best to avoid all contact with anything that looked like it could do me harm. This was difficult since the hill was coated with knee high plants, and there was no discernable path.

            When I reached the top of the hill I was rewarded with a beautiful landscape. Hills, just like the small one I had just climbed created a skyline in the distance. Dozens are well lit nearby while others fade as the distance grows, requiring more imagination to see clearly. The valley in front of me appears to have some sort of building, but I cannot tell what it could be. The slope that lies at my feet is very steep, keeping me from traveling any further. Trees are thinly scattered across the hillside. Several are crowning the hill near where I am standing. There are also several exposed rocks along the ridge. I decide to turn back and find a nice open spot facing the sun to settle in.

            As I walk along the hill, I notice that the shrubbery has become shorter. I look at it and realize that it is small rather uncomfortable looking plants, very different from the grass at the bottom. The fact that this looks smooth and green from the bottom of the hill reminds me of home. Near where I live the hills appear very smooth and yellow. Driving by on the freeway it looks rather comfortable and fun to play in. But upon closer inspection the plants turn out to be waist high plants with seeds that attach themselves to clothing with ease. If these stickers are not painful they are annoying and somewhat destructive to clothing. One of my friends said that while before she had thought that these hills looked nice, she would forever remember that they are covered with some incredibly uncomfortable plants. As I look at the small plants that I crush with relative ease, I am thankful that they are so small compared to those not only at home, but those further down the hill too.

            I found a place to rest and looked out. Here was the rest of the world. Everything nearby sloped down. The hill I had just climbed ended in the field I had just crossed. On this field lay the camp, several Mongolian gers, round huts designed to withstand the harshest winters. Even further was the river, and behind that a grove of trees. Looking at the river I was reminded by my damp underwear of the events that had taken place right before my trek. Having been out on the steppes for several days at this point, riding horses, sleeping on the ground, and shoveling massive amounts of animal feces I was beginning to get dirty. I had gone down to the river with several of the guys to bathe. We stripped down to our boxers and climbed in the water. But getting in was more difficult than I had imagined. The first problem to overcome was the cold. The water was so cold that within a minute of being in it body parts went numb. This would have been manageable if entry were a gentle slope. Instead there was a sharp drop off ending in many slippery rocks. The first step in the river sent me knee deep. The second almost sent me tumbling as I tried to keep my balance. Eventually I got about waist deep and just stood there. I had no desire to freeze my whole body, and everyone else was taking their time. Eventually the others climbed in, and we all went under as a group to prove our manhood. By this time though, the lower half of my body was numb, and I decided that some sun and warmth was necessary. So I climbed out to the shore, slipping every time I set my foot down and getting muddy as the last step send me careening into the bank. Sun drying immediately had helped, but I was still cold from the river, so I climbed the hill, and lay out in the sun to bring my body temperature back to something that would not concern a doctor.

            When my veins stop griping at me, I look at more than what lies directly ahead of me. To my right the impending sunset forces me to squint, so I do not take the time to look at the neighboring gers that I know lay in that direction. Instead my gaze is drawn to the left. There I see more short hills like my peak. Shadows begun to grow from those hills. Little do I know how those hills will play into my life in the near future. Later I would go chasing some sheep and goats who had wandered into the shadow of these hills. As I would move out of the sunlight and into the darkness, I would become cold. Only the active pursuit of the wandering sheep will keep me warm. I would follow the sheep on the ground, while my professor would climb the hill as nimbly as the mountain goats he was chasing. As I will round up the sheep, I will clap my hands, both for warmth and to scare the sheep in the general direction I want them to go. After herding sheep I would return to the camp after sunset, finding warmth only in the fire. As I would go to bed, I will wrap myself well in my sleeping bag, but even that would not keep me warm, and I would succumb to the cold. But currently I am still sitting in the sunlight, warming myself like a lizard.

            I hear laughter behind me and turn to see some of my friends behind me, joking together. They strike up a conversation with me, but we are soon interrupted by some more of the people in our group. They are chasing a herd of sheep who have wandered up to us. We are already in a position to lead the sheep the right direction, so we get up and start to send the sheep in the correct direction. And so I begin my adventure that would eventually end in cold. But the cold is not the end of my story. When I will wake up the next morning I will step outside into the wonderfully warm sunlight. I will again become active, doing things that warm my muscles, and rid my body of the chills that have taken up residence there. In the morning the sun will end not only the chill of night, but also the middle ground in which I currently reside. Warmth will reign, and I will be content.