“Hey, hey! You know what I was thinking?!” Bree started, “Here’s another way movies can be educational! The cartoon Dinosaurs teaches kids how to dig for water. I remember that exact lesson about the cooler ground! Yah, I learned it from that show!!” she finished proudly. It never failed to amaze me how well her memory worked, if only when it came to movies.
“Good for you, dear,” Ammon did an amazingly accurate imitation of how we’d so often heard our grandma encourage us.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The camels were lying on their bellies with all four knees buried in the sand. Though I’d not received instructions or read any handy camel-riding manuals, I managed to swing my leg up and over the blanket “saddle” that was fastened between the two humps and had stirrups fashioned from woven rope. My feet came within inches of the ground, unlike Ammon, who was still standing awkwardly on tip-toe with the camel between his legs.
With a blunt command and a smack on the bottom from the weather-worn owner, the camel abruptly straightened its rear legs and catapulted me forward. I clung to anything I could as it practically threw me over the first hump. While he stood there with his bum in the air, I was uncomfortably suspended for a very long few seconds before he leisurely manoeuvred his front legs out from beneath him and stood upright. When the front half rose, I was thrown backwards so rapidly that I again feared I would somersault backwards over the other hump. I barely managed to settle into my “seat” before I realized I was sitting at least six-and-a-half feet off the ground.
“Why are their humps so floppy?!” Bree asked as she rode up beside me. She lifted one in an attempt to make it stay upright, but it persistently fell to the side. “This is not how I imagined it would be!” She was almost devastated by the lifeless lump.
“Me neither. I thought it would be two full, rounded humps like in the cartoons, but these are so long and dangly,” I agreed.
“Do you guys know why they have humps in the first place?” Ammon asked.
“Sure. ’Cause if they weren’t there, we’d fall right off. They’re built-in seatbelts,” Bree joked. Ammon glared at her dismissively.
“Nooooo,” he said, drawing the syllable out in hopes someone else might jump in to answer.
“They’re basically just saggy boobs, aren’t they? You told us this before,” I recalled.
“They’re used for fat storage. That’s how they can last so long out in the desert.”
“That makes sense to me,” Mom chimed in. “The first place you lose weight is always in your boobs.”
“Oh my gosh, Mom! Way too much information,” Ammon recoiled.
“Well, it’s true!” Mom supported her argument by indicating her own as an example, grossing Ammon out even more in the process. He shuddered deeply. I’m sure he was again questioning what he’d gotten himself into by agreeing to go on this trip with three females.
“I thought they stored water,” Bree said.
“ ‘They’ meaning the seatbelts?” he teased. “No, the water thing is a common misconception. But it’s more complicated than that. It has to do with the shape of their red blood cells,” Ammon explained. “The way they’re sagging like this tells us that they don’t have much reserve left.”
“Yah! Judging by their humps, it looks like they’ve been wandering the desert for years. No one has been taking care of them,” Mom pointed out.
“Probably not that long ago, but they can go up to thirty days without a drop of water.”
“What’s the difference between a one-hump and a two-hump camel?” Mom asked.
“A one-hump camel can’t last as long as a two-hump?” Bree guessed again.
“These are Bactrian camels from Asia. Asian camels are a lot rarer than the one-humpers that come from the Middle East,” Ammon explained.
“Wow, really? I never realized that,” I said.
“So, it’s sorta like the African elephants having big ears and the Indian ones having smaller ears.” Mom loved elephants.
“Why do the guides have to hold the reins? I wanna race!” Bree said loudly. The camels were led by ropes tied to wooden rings dangling from the hole that was pierced through the nose of every camel at a young age. “Why do you get to have the reigns, Future?”
“I is professional. I know camels!” he proclaimed proudly, grabbing my black flip-flop off my foot and using it to smack the camel’s side to show it who was boss.
“I think it’s because nobody ever comes out here to ride them, so they aren’t that tame,” Ammon began. “You see how many herds are just roaming around out here. They probably caught these guys last week---”
As if to prove Ammon’s point, Future’s camel had started to rebel and was twisting its neck around as it attempted to bite his foot. The camel emitted a cacophony of loud, high-pitched growling and snarling noises that echoed across the sand. Flailing his arms, Future pitifully tried to hide from its swinging head behind my small flip-flop, coming just short of losing both it and his fingers to the camel’s teeth.
“Or maybe ’cause they just know we’re stupid tourists and the closest hospital is a week away,” Ammon added when Future’s camel bolted off into the empty desert, the owner hollering after them both. This demonstrated just how undomesticated these camels were, but it also cast doubt on Future’s claims to have expertise with them.
“I don’t want to have this thing run away on me,” I confessed, as I watched Future nearly fly off his ill-tempered beast as the owner continued pursuing them frantically on foot.
The sun was blazing and my face felt like a potato chip without the oil. Future had finally been rescued and was still laughing good-naturedly at himself. Though he and Bree seemed too cool to acknowledge the heat and Ammon was far too tough to allow that the sun could dampen his spirits, the scorching, forty-five-minute return trip was exhausting. To keep our sanity, we joined a mutual game of naming our favourite and most desired cravings.
“Strawberry milkshake with sprinkles,” Bree started.
“Strawberry/raspberry Yogen Fruz,” I jumped in right after.
“Dr. Pepper.”
“Sushi,” Bree continued.
“Mocha Frappuccino, with extra whipped cream!” I drooled.
“Cold water,” Ammon’s participation surprised us, even if his choice was a little lacking in imagination. He usually belittled our games.
“Yah!” we all jinxed.
“Yes, water cold. We get for you. They having,” Future said, happy to be able to direct us to the first thing he recognized on our list. He leaned forward to talk to the local man, who now had his hand firmly fastened around Future’s reigns. “Yes, yes. They get for us,” he confirmed happily.
I was ecstatic over the prospect of drinking something as simple as water. Cold water! I envisioned pulling a bottle out from a refrigerator, so cold that beads of condensation rolled down its sides. Maybe even slushy cold Sprite, like we had at the Tiger Leaping Gorge. That was heaven!
Once the camels were tied up to a small wooden pole near the gers, the youngest of the family’s three daughters volunteered to show us where the water could be found. She had braided pigtails and used little purple hairclips to try to control her wild hair. Chubby cheeks and big teeth made her nose seem tiny and rabbit-like, and her eyes virtually disappeared whenever Future made her laugh. Chucking the young girl in our van, we headed out, leaving the rest of her family to prepare dinner.
“Isn’t it crazy that they just let us take her? I mean, really? They don’t know us from a hill of beans. We could just as easily kidnap her!” Mom commented.
She told us she was ten years old, which started me wondering things like, How do they celebrate birthdays? Would they actually know what the date was living out here, or only seasons and years? But then, how important could dates be in a place where there are no appointments or anything?
The little girl’s family had welcomed us to stay the night when we arrived unexpectedly on their doorstep that afternoon. People
were always very helpful when we’d pull up unexpectedly, hoping to get pointed in the right direction or have a warm place to stay and get a nibble of anything they had to spare. We initially tried to reimburse the gracious occupants in these situations, but soon learned that doing so was not their custom; in fact, offering payment usually caused them to take offense. Their custom seemed to be based on a general belief that if everyone helps when they can, everyone will always have what they need, so it was much better to humbly accept their warm hospitality and friendship.
Another vital custom to understand was the need to shout out “nokhoi khor! nokhoi khor!” when approaching any ger. I didn’t understand the importance of the phrase, which translates roughly to “hold the dogs,” until we drove up to a ger that had been left temporarily vacant by local nomads who’d gone off to tend their flocks. Future had called out “Nokhoi khor! Nokhoi khor! Nokhoi khor!” but no one was home to keep the canine guard in check. As we drew nearer, the most vicious-looking, shaggy dog I’ve ever seen exploded from the shade of the ger. We turned and fled the moment the beast charged towards our van, its brutish teeth bared. He’d pursued us as diligently as a lion running down a gemsbok as we’d quickly scrambled behind the van’s doors. If Future hadn’t quickly rolled up the window, he’d have had one seriously badass dog sitting in his lap, making for some interesting company. If you were to learn only one word or phrase in Mongolia, this traditional greeting would be it – Nokhoi khor!!
The girl squatted in the front passenger seat and pointed left and right for about half-an-hour before she abruptly signalled that we should stop. It looked no different from anywhere else we’d seen, but she jumped out of the van and waved at us to follow her on foot. Having spent so long in the desert, I ached for the feeling of ice water washing down my throat; I’d have gone to the ends of the earth for it.
It was easy to see why we’d left the car behind. It became far too sandy and bushy to drive on, even if we’d had four-wheel drive. As the girl led us down an invisible path identified only by simple bumps in the terrain, it started to sink in that we were not getting any closer to a fridge. My unrealistic expectation of reaching a small town that had cold water died. Where was I expecting to find electricity out here anyway? I questioned myself. Obviously, the sun is getting to me.
“If you guys weren’t here, I wouldn’t go anywhere with her! I don’t trust this tiny girl to get us there, let alone back!” I worried, glancing behind at our unmarked path.
“Yah. Especially now that our guard's down and we’re miles away from the van, even if we knew where it was! I’m sure it’s a plot,” Ammon agreed just to scare us.
“But Ammon! You are Jesus,” Future began, always putting the same emphasis on his second name. “You can find your way.” Amused, he tromped behind the girl as if in a parade.
“You know there’s no sense in worrying about stuff like that, Savannah. People should just trust because otherwise, you could go crazy with suspicion. What happens, happens,” Mom said.
Although I was beginning to get nervous, my curiosity was increasing. How on earth is this supposed to lead to water? The land became even more sandy and lumpy, and now there were lots more bushes that made it almost impossible to navigate. It had been a while since we’d left the van. Who knew how far we were from the ger? But with the sun sinking along with my heart, we kept on.
“What time must it be getting to be?” I asked.
“About ten if the sun is starting to set.” Ammon didn’t even have to glance at the watch clipped to his belt.
It crossed my mind that when I was her age, this would’ve been bedtime, but I suppose with no school to get up for ... The young girl was twisting and turning, ducking and weaving through the desert bushes, appearing and disappearing just often enough that we could follow her.
“Where on earth is she taking us?” Mom voiced, sounding more fascinated than worried.
“Are you sure she understood what we asked for?” I whispered, not wanting Future to overhear. “She’s probably getting us lost in these bogs, like Gollum did to the hobbits, and then the next thing you know--- Hey, where is she?!”
“Oh, stop it!” Mom snapped.
“No, really. Where did she go?” I asked, looking side to side.
“Over here, you guys. Stop slacking,” Ammon called from our left. “You see how authentic this is? This is awesome!”
“What do you mean?” Bree asked.
“You can’t tell? This isn’t a tourist set up, this is a real family. This is their life, and this is how they live it. Remember the ice canyon yesterday at Yolin Am? How the camels were all decorated with bells and ribbons? Yah right! They can’t afford that kind of stuff, and even the few who can would only bring it out for special occasions. That whole show was for us. They know tourists go there to see the ice canyon so they can charge five thousand togrog for it. That’s why it was kind of expensive.”
“You call five dollars to ride a camel expensive? Gosh, it costs more than that just to go look at one in the zoo!” I retaliated.
“It’s all relative,” he insisted.
Our chatting didn’t seem to make the time pass any faster. It still seemed like forever before the grassy mounds of earth opened up into a small oasis built around a natural spring. Fields of green grass framed by an elegant sand dune presented an ideal setting for cows, horses, and a few camels. The whole scene was washed in perfect lighting from the setting sun. The silent girl led us around the marshy edges on a crudely made boardwalk to where the water spewed up from the ground. Covering it was a small metal cage of sorts to prevent roaming livestock from contaminating it, though it hadn’t kept the frogs and small, grey, fresh-water shrimp out.
“We didn’t bring any purifying tablets,” Mom pointed out.
“Well, we’ve survived up until now. Let Bree try it first, just to be sure.”
“Ammon! That’s not very nice! But we are taking it directly from the source. If it’s coming straight from the earth, it should be okay.”
“Good, ’cause I'm not waiting until we get back,” I said.
“Here, then,” he handed the dusty bottle to me. “You try it first.”
Getting down on my knees next to Bree, I rinsed the bottle out first. Feeling the tepid water on my hands was wonderful, though it wasn’t the kind of cold I’d been dreaming of. I was so happy to see fresh water and lots of it that I ignored the smell of sulphur and other such minerals. I didn’t even bother trying to strain out any tiny shrimp that I might have caught; I simply held the bottle up in a salute in the dim lighting and glugged it back, focussing only on the wet sensation.
Chapter 38: Prehistoric
By the fourth day of our journey, the van was looking a lot worse for wear. A few times a day, Future had to ask Ammon to get out and reconnect the battery wires that constantly came loose in the engine. So far, the van had made Future proud and always worked again after a bit of fiddling. Despite the constant threat of breaking down, we felt we had no choice but to go on with our trip, having come this far.
Because the scenery didn’t change too much here in the south, I often found myself with my nose between the pages of Gone with the Wind. I literally couldn’t put the book down and regularly gasped and commented aloud as I read. I got so involved in the story that I sometimes forgot anyone was listening or that I was in Mongolia at all.
“What you really should be doing is looking at the scenery,” Ammon suggested. I think he was just tired of hearing my comments: “Oh, my sweet Rhett,” “Oh, my heart,” “Oh, Rhett!”
“Oh. Counting dead horses, you mean? Gotta love doing that,” I replied, barely looking up from the sand-covered pages.
“I’ve already counted thirteen today!” Mom sounded oddly cheerful given the morbid subject matter.
“Good for you.” I much preferred to concentrate on the lively mares pulling carriages loaded with beautifully dressed women in my novel.
“Oh! Fourteen,” Mom shout
ed, and sure enough, there was yet another dried up skeleton. Half buried, its backbone was displayed prominently enough to play it like a xylophone. Its deep, dark eye sockets were surrounded by bits of brown hide, and tufts of hair still clung to its white skull.
In the northwest parts of the country where it was greener, we’d seen flocks of huge vultures feasting. We watched once as dozens of them bashed heads as they fought for their share of a young goat’s flesh, its newly dead face mangled and already chewed to bits. The vultures were like no other bird I’d ever seen in the wild, given the sheer size of them and their very pronounced slouch. Though it was a bit bizarre, we were fascinated by the way they pecked at the goat to get a good meal. One eyeball was missing and the other was dangling from a smaller vulture’s beak before he threw his neck back and gobbled it down. When we got too close to the gory scene, they either hopped away with their heads sweeping down below their shoulders or took off, spreading their wings so wide they cast shadows over us.
Given the country’s harsh, unsheltered winters and blazing summers, I guessed that animals would drop like flies and feed them well. I wondered why we hadn’t seen any vultures here. Had they already picked all those horses clean? Or did they not usually travel this far south?
“Yesterday I stopped counting at forty.” Bree’s comment reminded me of the dog-counting game Bree and I had played, somewhat addictively for a period, when we were kids. We literally could not see a dog without counting it, but before I knew it, dog counting was only a memory. I couldn’t remember when or how it was that we’d quit playing that game and marvelled at how we came to be counting dead horses in the desert instead. I felt better about the substitution when I realized that this, too, would be just a memory one day.
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