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Destinasia, December 2003
Destinasia, December 2003 | Destinasia, December 2003 |
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Page 5 of 5 I didn’t need any convincing. You might say I have been Gobi-bound for over a decade. During a visit in 1992, I was stymied by the post-Naadam transport freeze. As soon as flights resumed I snapped up tickets to the Gobi. But then I heard about the Mongolian Navy—three boats, two guns, one engine—and decided to detour to Lake Khovsgol to have a look. Nowadays the lake is probably the country’s top tourist destination; back then it was just a long, laborious drive. We tallied 13 flat tires, with no jack or spare. The last one punctured my plans to go to the Gobi. I missed my flight and spent the night lying on a hillside, sighing at the stars and singing Beatles songs with my guide Ariunbat, president of UB’s Sgt. Pepper’s Fan Club, membership numbering one. Eleven years later, by a quirk of fate, I’m put in touch with Ariunbat again, who now runs his own media firm. We dine at the newly opened Modern Nomads, which bills itself as a health restaurant. Down the block from Mongolia’s only bowling alley, Modern Nomads is a pleasant place run by a women’s collective. The menu—surprise—is all mutton, but traditional recipes are updated with sauces and healthier ingredients: let’s just call it mutton-fusion. Over a bowl of mutton and noodles, Ariunbat says, "Finally, you are getting to the Gobi. You know, I think you will really come to understand Mongolia in the desert." Approaching Three Camels Lodge the next day, I think I’m seeing a mirage. After the icy tongue of Yolyn Am, and having watched wild camels romp across the Gobi, anything else would seem bound to disappoint. Not Three Camels Lodge. Modeled on a ger camp, its sandstone tiles and weathered wood blend into the desert landscape. Nomadic Expeditions, the owners, went first-class all the way. Power comes from solar panels and windmills. Waste disposal is state-of-the-art. Fittings, while far from opulent, are designed for comfort and harmony with the Gobi. I immediately dub it "Amangolia." "We think of it as an eco-lodge," says Nomadic Expeditions’ vice president, Yondon Badral, who confides that the cost spiraled to US$300,000, about 10 times that of a typical ger camp. Not that much is typical about this place. For breakfast, there is toast and jam and real cheese. Shower stalls are tidy, with towels and toiletries at the ready. Nothing is particularly extravagant, but all the right touches are in place, like damp washcloths before meals, and impeccable service from smiling staff. At night, I retire to my ger and to the first decent bed I’ve slept in since my arrival. Reflecting on Ariunbat’s words, I find myself trying to define the exact appeal of Mongolia. Visitors either love the place or hate it, passionately, often for the same reasons: the difficulty, the difference, the radical extremes. Boosters generally outnumber critics and most visitors rave about Mongolia. But I cannot help noticing how few of those who call this the Last Great Place ever make a repeat visit. Regardless, Mongolia claims a special something, and it all seems to shine at Three Camels. Or maybe it’s just the bed. Whatever, my dreams are grand, my days glorious. I’m not only soaking up sunsets, but also rising at dawn every day for glorious sunrises. File that among the Top Ten Reasons to Visit Mongolia. The awesome, unalloyed light is one attraction. Then there are the evocative rock formations, like those around Senjit Khad, north of Sainshand, and the Flaming Cliffs near Vulture’s Mouth Gorge, famed for their dinosaur fossils. Mostly, though, the sense is exhilaration, of being swallowed up in this stunning vastness. Maybe it’s the lack of roads, but you get this feeling of intense freedom, as if traversing enormous territory nobody has touched before. Even when you spot a few gers, they seem only temporarily secured, like seeds too restless to take root. If all this seems rather reflective, blame the long, mesmerizing desert daydreams. And the magic moments. There are plenty of those, but the best comes at Khongoryn Els, home to some of Mongolia’s largest dunes, known as the Duutr Mankhan, or "singing sands." This is the highlight of most expeditions to this part of the Gobi. Unfortunately, I arrive in the middle of a rare summer rainstorm. We climb the dunes, both my driver and guide good-naturedly tagging along. It’s a muddy slog, and we nearly turn back several times. The worst is when winds whip up the sand to face-blasting speeds. We dive for cover in the lee of the dunes. But we wait it out. Just before sunset, the reward streams through the clouds: a huge rainbow, colorful and complete. As the sun falls, a second rainbow appears, creating a pair of vivid arches, dune to dune. Minutes later, the sky is a kaleidoscope of gold, crimson, and orange. I’m beaming, and so are my companions. These are the moments that make Mongolia worth the wait, the battle, even the mutton. It’s the magic of the Last Great Place. Ron Gluckman is an American journalist based in Hong Kong, who travels widely around the Asian region for a variety of publications, including Destinasian (www.destinasian.com) a travel magazine that ran this piece in December 2003. |
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