Lake Reflections

    Typing without glasses. Because I am still in bed, which is reasonable at 5 a.m., It is too chilly to get out from under the covers here at Gana’s Guest House, where I am in the morning of my last full day in the country. If we had closed the ger cover properly it would be warmer in here, and more importantly, darker. My brain is well-trained to wake to the light, which is still quite early in this Central Asian country.

    I returned from Hovsgul Lake the day before yesterday. Since I had taken another overnight bus, I needed one day to recover. I am pretty sure that will be my last ever travel on such a conveyance. An oy-vey-ance. I have been writing about how things have changed since I was last here eight years ago. But sitting for more than 20 hours in a cramped, shock absorbent-less, overcrowded UAZ showed me that it is I who have changed so much. For the first time I could say, I am too old for this. Not for the hitch-hiking and budget, backpacker style traveling, but for the painfully uncomfortable marathon transportation that it entails. I can’t believe I previously enjoyed it. I guess I purely marveled at the unreality of holding an awkward position, or getting comfortable in impossible places, for so many hours with so many cheerful people who were packed together in a vehicle with you. Now I have no interest in some girl half sitting on me or some mother and baby pinning me to my seat. Been there. Done with that.

    My time at the lake revealed some similar, though more pleasant insights about how I have changed. My reason for flying up there was to have enough time to get to the north en of the lake and climb the mountain straddling the Russian-Mongolian border. As it turned out, 9 days were needed and I was a day short. Not to worry- I made a different plan, to go with the former state park director as my guide, on a different 5-day route: That would give me a relaxed, instead of rushed, time up there. I could visit Otgo, my friend, who owns a tourist camp on the lower west side. I spent the first night at her satellite camp in Hatgal town, and caught a ride in a car to her ger camp the next morning.

    Seeing the lake, I felt any tension within me dissolve. There is something about the landscape that feels like home. Is it just that my brain recognizes and connects to so many positive experiences there? Or is there something in the light and shadow, contour and relief, that taps a deeper root within my unconscious mind, evoking feelings of safety and security. I don’t know why, but I do know that unlike other parts of Mongolia, which might represent adventure and edginess, Hovsgol feels like home to me. Even though there are more tourist camps (almost everywhere) and more tourists and of course, trash, Hovsgul seemed to still hold its own. Unlike Kharkhorin and Orkhon, it has not been overrun and polluted by unmanaged development. Yet. Because it is becoming ever more accessible. And we know what happens if you build it.
    I was surprised at the road. A new one was under construction that had taken me from the airport town of Moron to Hatgal, which will halve the time to cover the 100 kilometers.. And another new one was finished up past Nature’s Door, Otgo’s place. It’s 22 kms from Hatgal. I’d previously spent several hours on horse to reach there, but this was less than 30 minutes by car. It’s also possible to take a 20 minute boat shuttle if you want to pay. The large ferry started running too, but just now it does tours on the lower lake. Tours with blaring radio music that you can hear from shore to shore. It was just such nonsense that accompanied me back to Hatgal on my final day, as I chose to walk the five hour horse trail back. That brought me  familiar views, evoking pleasant memories. It was a great way to bring closure to a productive and relaxing week at the lake.

    Otgo had given me a great reception. I enjoyed a day paddling in an inflatable kayak, speed boating in circles nearby her dock, touring her eco-facilities complete with solar showers and composting toilets, and generally relaxing. The next afternoon the boat took me across the lake to meet my guide. I was to be dropped off and then to walk through the woods to the guide’s new tour base. Five minutes of struggling with my inconvenient luggage (I packed into panniers to make it easier to pack into saddlebags- plus I had no real backpack with me) I realized that I did not want to be stumbling in the woods on my own with no trail and no clear idea how to cross the little mountain and where I might find his camp. The boatman and two others who’d come along for the ride were still at our landing point, hiking on the rocky promontory. They were surprised to see me there 15 minutes later. We got back in the boat and motored around the headland to find  the deserted camp. Five minutes of shouting brought the older daughter to the shore. And that’s when I remembered that in Mongolia, you have to ask the right questions. I had never confirmed exactly who would be my guide. When I learned that it was the younger brother, whom I’d never seen or spoke to, I promptly changed my mind. Going in the mountains with an area expert  was what I’d wanted. Just another 5-day horse trip with a local kid was not what I needed. In a half hour I was back at Nature’s Door, with days stretching ahead and nothing to do. Although I find it hard to sit and relax, I was able to spend my time well.
    I read. I wrote. And since there was no internet, and electricity only from 9-12 midnight, I used the computer efficiently to write. I can accurately report that I finally really started writing my book. Which is part of why I have not been writing this blog. I know you don’t mind.
    I did go on a hike one morning. I tried to find my way through the forest to get to the open slope that would bring me to the top of a ridgeline behind Otgo’s. I was advised to take a local guide for the first hour since there was no trail through the dense woods. I couldn’t find one and was antsy to get going. I was relieved to find my way out of the forest after three hours  of following and losing bits of different paths. I knew the arc of the sun and the relative orientation of my destination. I also knew I would never leave home without my compass again. I got a bit lost. I got a bit nervous. I got some nice pictures of flowers and saw my very first jackrabbit. It was huge. Tall as a wolf, but round-humped and fat, with mottled black and gray fur and two-foot ears.  I also saw an animal bed that looked like a moose had slept there. The next two mornings were rainy, so I didn’t attempt the climb again.  I was content with the walk I had done. I started to realize that I didn’t need a new adventure. I’ve spent more than two solid months exploring the region on horse during four different trips there. There was nothing I needed from another day or three. Better I spent the time writing.

    But I did want to get on a horse again. Five hours on a poorly padded wooden saddle was enough for me, embarrassingly. It wasn’t important where we‘d go, since I’d already been everywhere within a day’s ride. But it was important to gallop. The “tourist horse” the guide gave me was just so slow that it wasn’t long before the guide swapped horses. That’s one reason for the saddle sores. Mongolians can ride on bare wood. The guide’s saddle was not much more than that. I asked him to swap saddles for the return journey.  It was fun. Running across the close-grazed steppe on a horse is still a delight and a thrill. My version of the flying dream always has me skimming just above the earth’s surface where forward motion is effortless, and there are no heights to fear. Flying on horseback is nearly the dream realized awake. I could definitely do that again. And again.
    I have been wondering if this fifth will be my final trip to this country. My resolve is that if and when the Russian border between lakes Hovsgol and Baikal opens to foreigners, I will return. A simple flight to the Russian Far East and a pleasant train to the north of Baikal, followed by a full day ferry to the south shore and then a civilized bus ride to the border could bring me to Hovsgul without the pain of getting into and out of UB. My fantasy trip would involve horses and a kayak. Lake Hovsgul is drained by a river that ultimately drains into Lake Baikal in a counter clockwise direction.  This would be the premier trip- maybe in five more years it will be possible. Let me know if you want to go.
    I spent the yesterday looking for a suitable case to pack my bike for the return journey. Tape measure in hand and local friend in tow, I returned to the guest house with a big enough case, only to realize it is too big for the airline. So when the morning is sufficiently here, I will see about exchanging it for a smaller item. I don’t think Mongolia is synonymous with customer service. The only cause for optimism is that the smaller suitcase I want is more expensive (and better) so maybe to  seller will be willing to let me return this. Sometimes I wonder if I have spent more time sorting and packing than actually pedaling. I am not sure I really want to know.   
   
    I might get a chance for a final entry. Tomorrow I take an overnight train to Ulan Ude, Russia, and then switch lines for two more nights heading east. I will have about 36 hours to visit with Natasha and her family. I stayed with them for two weeks on my first  ever trip in 1997. I visited them two years later, but not since. I am excited to be able to talk with Natasha’s parents, now that I can speak Russian. I am looking forward to returning home the way I first came. Back the way I started to see everything again for the first time.