Ger Living

We stopped at the top of a hill overlooking Bat Olzii after having endured one of the roughest roads we had been on in Mongolia. We had wanted to bathe in the hot springs above the town. We didn't know ahead of time that the road there was more of a footpath than anything capable of accepting four wheels. We nodded vigorously when Butar asked, "Let's go?"

Now we were recooperating from the bruised butts and the aching backs the ride had given us. Butar pointed to the town. "Tire," he said and we nodded. previously in the Gobi we had gotten a flat tire. We had changed it with the spare but later Butar had been unsuccessful at trying the repair the hole the nail had left. In fact in the process of trying to remove the tire from the rim, he's broken the tire mount under the van. If we went into town, someone might be able to help.

We drove through the suburbs first - rows of gers fenced into small dirt yards. Butar leaned out his window and addressed everyone he saw. He asked young children (which surprised me - how would they know where to get a tire fixed), he asked old men. One lady that he talked to was dressed in the traditional del costume (complete with hat). She was in the process of separating a baby yak from it's mother's teet. She talked with Butar as she pulled up a stool, hobbled the yak and began to milk it.

Butar continued to ask everyone his question until finally we stopped at a ger next to the liquor store. We were immediately invited in. I was surprised when the younger man addressed me in English. "You have a bad tire?" he asked. "Come in and we will talk."

Ger ettiquitte is very important. I was trying to remember everything I'd read in the guide book - enter to the left, never turn your back to the alter, keep your sleeves rolled down, if you kick someone shake their hand, accept the milk you will be served with both hands, drink it even though it will probably taste awful, always accept the food they offer.

I nibbled politely on the hard lump of fried bread and looked around. They had the typical colorful ger furniture, three beds against the walls, a small table and a stove in the center.

"You will stay with us tonight," the man said and I could hardly refuse. He offered us his apartment at the back of the liquor store. "Five dollars," he said.

The apartment was dismal and musty and we set up our tent on the floor. The outhouses far away from the building were - well - less than appealing. There was no running water and we considered washing up like the Mongolians - drawing water into our mouths and then spouting it out as we washed our faces and hands. I watched one young girl do this and was amazed at how much water she held in her mouth. Instead I poured a tiny amount of our drinking water on my hands, shook them dry and called it a bath.

I would have preferred to stay in a ger that night - although sleeping in a 16-foot diameter space with an entire family didn't appeal to me. I was thinking more of the tourist ger we had stayed at in the Gobi - clean, comfortable, and all to ourselves. But we were glad that at least we were indoors when a group of drunks came bounding into town in the middle of the night banging on every door they could find.

"Maybe we should buy a ger," I said to John. It's a portable house and in Mongolia, we could set it up anywhere. John pointed to our 2-man bug hut tent. "So is this," he said. "And it's easy to disassemble. Here, grab and end and help me roll it up."