Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
In this round little space was housed all of the woman's possessions. With no
dark corners, and in such a confined area, everything was on display. The amount
of goods paled in comparison to the decadence of an average Australian room.
There was a very good reason, beyond lack of money, to stem the accumulation
of material possessions. Most Mongolians in the countryside move at least twice a
year, roaming to sites better suited to the changing seasons. They had to be able to
bundle everything up, including the
ger
, and fit it onto the back of a wagon. After
a year of carrying everything on the bikes, we understood this principle very well:
nonessential items usually got the flick. In fact there were many parallels between
our travel reality and the Mongolian way of life. For one, the Mongolians were the
first people we met who didn't blink an eyelid at the fact that we rarely washed. To
them, living in a tent and spending the day outdoors was the norm - it was just that
we rode strange bicycles rather than horses. Of course these parallels were pretty
shallow, too. While we had to cope with different weather conditions, they had to
survive and be self-sustainable. It was pretty obvious that they were born into a life
of hardship far more demanding than riding a bike across the country could ever
be.
'
Uszhen gotov
!' she announced eventually. (We never did find out what her
name was.) This was Russian for dinner is ready! We were astounded to learn that
she spoke fluent Russian, and had lived and worked in Moscow in government ad-
ministration during the Soviet Union.
The woman moved over to me with the large pot and opened it. 'What do you
think, boys? Bon appetit!' she boomed with a cackle.
I froze. In the middle of the simmering milk floated the head of a goat: skin,
eyes, ears and all. A smell wafted out like a shitted-up milking shed.
'Tim, have you ever tried goat's ear before?' the woman asked.
With a short knife she deftly sliced off a rubbery white bit and held it out. I
turned to Chris, who was looking on with just as much anticipation as the mother
and son.
I took a hard bite of the warm slimy cartilage and smiled. I chewed for about
twenty minutes but just couldn't break it down. Eventually, I swallowed it whole
and looked despairingly at the rest of the ear still in my hand. A little embarrassed,
I handed it back to the computer engineer. I presumed that it would get passed
around and eaten collectively. But, he threw it out the door for the dogs.
