Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia
I'm really putting in some time to Flickr at the moment, going through the painstaking process of rotating every photo individually. It's trying my patience but hopefully it will be worth it: there are some decent images of my last days in Beijing, including Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City. Some lack colour on account of the smog. But grey is an appropariate shade for that place, I think...
I woke up a few days ago and found myself staring out of the window of a train, racing through the southern-Mongolian steppe. The sun was shining and the sky was a shade of blue I haven't seen since the Tibetan plateau. I could see no signs of civilisation anywhere beyond the parallel train tracks alongside. I can't stress this enough: there was nothing, anywhere. No people, no houses, no factories, no villages, no statues of Mao Zedong, no smog, no concrete, no flags...that moment in itself had a number of dream-like qualities. Later on I sat in the buffet carriage and stared out at the landscape, feeling like an oppressive weight had been lifted off my shoulders the minute we crossed the border. At one point I spotted a single rider galloping towards a flock of sheep. His speed almost matched that of our train. I loved it. I imagined myself in his position, going full pelt across an endless plain on horseback. It's so easy to dream and slip into a reverie when the vidual stimulus is all around you (although dreaming has never been much of a problem for me, I must admit).
We arrived into Ulaan Baatar train station at around 3pm. Immediately I noticed a change in atmosphere from Beijing. The sky was blue and the air was cool. People weren't shouting. I didn't feel any pressure to act a certain way and felt no need to throw my weight around just to manage the crowds as I often did in China. On the journey to the guesthouse I looked out of the window and saw shabby, Soviet-era apartment blocks with cracked paint, half-constructed buildings shrouded by scaffolding and lots of odd lettering, resembling Russian to my untrained eye (Mongolian is a Cyrillic language). I looked a little further and saw that after a kilometre or so the sparse, high-rise city gave itself up to the looming hills, green and alpine and stretching out further than I could see. It felt just like Lhasa! I was so happy. I love these cities that just seem as though they've been dropped in the middle of an imposing landscape, isolated hubs of humanity in amidst all that nothingness. No ghastly urban sprawl, no ring roads, no motorways. Knowing that I'm not far from nature if comforting to me.
My reverie was interrupted by some words, which I registered almost automatically as I heard them. My ears suddenly pricked as the lady from our guesthouse told the other passengers that this week in Ulaan Baatar none other than His Holiness The Dalai Lama is in town paying a visit. Yes, The Dalai Lama! I couldn't believe it! I thought I must still have been sleeping on the train. Here! In Ulaan Baatar! At the same time as me!
I hate exclamation marks usually but there is no other way! How lucky I am.
So this afternoon I set of for the Nadam Stadium in the hope that I might be able to see the man himself. I still couldn't quite believe what was going on. Walking through the gates among pilgrims, I half-expected to be jostled by a surly PSB guard or told that I must pay fifty kwai. I forgot that I was no longer in China. But I slipped through with ease and found myself looking at a stage upon which hung two thangkas. There was a big, throne-like seat positioned between the hangings. To the left and right of the stage were two oceans of maroon and saffron - the robes of Tibetan Buddhist monks. And in the middle of it all, sat in front of a microphone and gesticulating slowly, was the Dalai Lama. Madness.
I sat down and stared, not quite knowing what to make of the situation. He was speaking in Tibetan and his voice was quieter than I had expected. Every now and then there would be a Mongolian translation, but no English. It didn't really bother me; it was enough for me to have seen him and felt his presence, and witnessed his power over the hundreds of people in the stadium. I don't mean to sound sycophantic, but it was humbling for me. For so long this man has been in my thoughts, and especially in Tibet I felt his presence in my mind more often than not. I remembered how I felt walking around the Potala Palace on my last day in Lhasa with tears in my eyes. There was no mention of him whatsoever, as though he'd been erased. It hit me so strongly that it almost felt like a personal attack on my own right to know about the world, an affront to my own allegiances. Seeing the Dalai Lama in the flesh brought all of this back. It was amazing to think that we were in the same city at the same time - and I had no idea this would be the case. How sad though, that so many of the Tibetans I met a few months ago are denied even the knowledge that he is safe and well, let alone the chance to see or hear their spiritual leader extolling the virtues of universal compassion.
While I very much agree with Patrick French's realistic assessment of the Dalai Lama's actions over the past fifty years or so (you should read his book, Tibet, Tibet), I can't help but admire him for all sorts of reasons. They would probably take too long to elucidate, but let's just say I feel renewed and fortified having seen him for real.
What an adventure I have had. Tomorrow it continues. I've hooked up with some other travellers and we're heading off into the Gobi Desert for six days. We'll see the famous ice canyon (right in the middle of the desert!), the sand dunes and hopefully get a chance to ride horses for a couple of days. We'll be camping and staying in gers, cooking our own food on the gas stove since the nomadic people won't be able to cater for vegetarians and I don't much fancy sheep organs for dinner every night. I've stocked up on pasta, black olives and tomato sauce (all imported from Poland). Weeeeeeeeeeeeee.
21 days and counting. My bed! Radio 4! The fridge!
I woke up a few days ago and found myself staring out of the window of a train, racing through the southern-Mongolian steppe. The sun was shining and the sky was a shade of blue I haven't seen since the Tibetan plateau. I could see no signs of civilisation anywhere beyond the parallel train tracks alongside. I can't stress this enough: there was nothing, anywhere. No people, no houses, no factories, no villages, no statues of Mao Zedong, no smog, no concrete, no flags...that moment in itself had a number of dream-like qualities. Later on I sat in the buffet carriage and stared out at the landscape, feeling like an oppressive weight had been lifted off my shoulders the minute we crossed the border. At one point I spotted a single rider galloping towards a flock of sheep. His speed almost matched that of our train. I loved it. I imagined myself in his position, going full pelt across an endless plain on horseback. It's so easy to dream and slip into a reverie when the vidual stimulus is all around you (although dreaming has never been much of a problem for me, I must admit).
We arrived into Ulaan Baatar train station at around 3pm. Immediately I noticed a change in atmosphere from Beijing. The sky was blue and the air was cool. People weren't shouting. I didn't feel any pressure to act a certain way and felt no need to throw my weight around just to manage the crowds as I often did in China. On the journey to the guesthouse I looked out of the window and saw shabby, Soviet-era apartment blocks with cracked paint, half-constructed buildings shrouded by scaffolding and lots of odd lettering, resembling Russian to my untrained eye (Mongolian is a Cyrillic language). I looked a little further and saw that after a kilometre or so the sparse, high-rise city gave itself up to the looming hills, green and alpine and stretching out further than I could see. It felt just like Lhasa! I was so happy. I love these cities that just seem as though they've been dropped in the middle of an imposing landscape, isolated hubs of humanity in amidst all that nothingness. No ghastly urban sprawl, no ring roads, no motorways. Knowing that I'm not far from nature if comforting to me.
My reverie was interrupted by some words, which I registered almost automatically as I heard them. My ears suddenly pricked as the lady from our guesthouse told the other passengers that this week in Ulaan Baatar none other than His Holiness The Dalai Lama is in town paying a visit. Yes, The Dalai Lama! I couldn't believe it! I thought I must still have been sleeping on the train. Here! In Ulaan Baatar! At the same time as me!
I hate exclamation marks usually but there is no other way! How lucky I am.
So this afternoon I set of for the Nadam Stadium in the hope that I might be able to see the man himself. I still couldn't quite believe what was going on. Walking through the gates among pilgrims, I half-expected to be jostled by a surly PSB guard or told that I must pay fifty kwai. I forgot that I was no longer in China. But I slipped through with ease and found myself looking at a stage upon which hung two thangkas. There was a big, throne-like seat positioned between the hangings. To the left and right of the stage were two oceans of maroon and saffron - the robes of Tibetan Buddhist monks. And in the middle of it all, sat in front of a microphone and gesticulating slowly, was the Dalai Lama. Madness.
I sat down and stared, not quite knowing what to make of the situation. He was speaking in Tibetan and his voice was quieter than I had expected. Every now and then there would be a Mongolian translation, but no English. It didn't really bother me; it was enough for me to have seen him and felt his presence, and witnessed his power over the hundreds of people in the stadium. I don't mean to sound sycophantic, but it was humbling for me. For so long this man has been in my thoughts, and especially in Tibet I felt his presence in my mind more often than not. I remembered how I felt walking around the Potala Palace on my last day in Lhasa with tears in my eyes. There was no mention of him whatsoever, as though he'd been erased. It hit me so strongly that it almost felt like a personal attack on my own right to know about the world, an affront to my own allegiances. Seeing the Dalai Lama in the flesh brought all of this back. It was amazing to think that we were in the same city at the same time - and I had no idea this would be the case. How sad though, that so many of the Tibetans I met a few months ago are denied even the knowledge that he is safe and well, let alone the chance to see or hear their spiritual leader extolling the virtues of universal compassion.
While I very much agree with Patrick French's realistic assessment of the Dalai Lama's actions over the past fifty years or so (you should read his book, Tibet, Tibet), I can't help but admire him for all sorts of reasons. They would probably take too long to elucidate, but let's just say I feel renewed and fortified having seen him for real.
What an adventure I have had. Tomorrow it continues. I've hooked up with some other travellers and we're heading off into the Gobi Desert for six days. We'll see the famous ice canyon (right in the middle of the desert!), the sand dunes and hopefully get a chance to ride horses for a couple of days. We'll be camping and staying in gers, cooking our own food on the gas stove since the nomadic people won't be able to cater for vegetarians and I don't much fancy sheep organs for dinner every night. I've stocked up on pasta, black olives and tomato sauce (all imported from Poland). Weeeeeeeeeeeeee.
21 days and counting. My bed! Radio 4! The fridge!