Life here is good and relaxed. I've taken two more horseriding trips with the same guide, I'm really getting the hang of it. Our guide, Gaige, told me that I was riding like a "sain Mongol" the other day. That means I'm good.
The third day of riding was unintentional, but necessary because my backpack flew open on the second day and released my money belt somewhere in the valley. We were racing across the valley ahead of a huge thunderstorm that was bearing down on us. It was an amazing moment to be cantering across the field, looking left to see Darren doing the same, framed by the green hills, towering stormclouds and lashes of lightning. We made it back to Gaige's
ger moments before the storm was upon us. Somewhere in the dash, I lost my moneybelt. With the weather getting worse, I decided to forget it for the moment and to enjoy the energy of the day.
After the storm passed, we got back on our horses for the 1:30 ride back to town. We didn't get a half hour out before another, meaner storm was swirling around us. Shouting and gesturing at me to hold onto my hat, Gaige turned and we followed him into the wind toward another family's
ger across the valley. The horses understood what we wanted and gallopped unwhipped across the field. Reaching the
ger, we quickly tied up the horses and dashed inside, just as the marble-sized hailstones began to rain down.
Nara, our suprise hostess was unfazed and began the now familar ritual of plying us with all sorts of nomad fare. Hot
sultay tsai (warm, salted milk tea-- my favourite), fresh soft cheese, bread and
airag (the alcohoilic fermented horse milk that tastes like sour liquid cheese yoghurt and makes your tummy funny). While we started drying off, the horses were untied so that they could run off and take shelter beneathe the trees lining the opposite side of the valley.
Eventually the storm passed and while we waited for the local boys to find our horses, our hostess served hot
buuz and more
sultay tsai. The sun poked out from beneath the clouds and we began riding again under a gray sky, lit from below, towards the perfect double rainbow that now straddled the valley back to Tsesterleg.
Returning the next day with Jen, I found my belt without too much trouble. This was good luck, considering that my passport and hard earned visas were contained within.
I'm planning on leaving here at the end of the week, and I'll probably wind up in Beijing sometime around the 12th. Only a month and a half before I need to head back to NY. Seems like nothing.
So the UFO. Right. It was real and scary. Elin, Isabel, Ken and myself were sitting on the ridgetop, camping for our last night together as a group. It was about 12:30pm and the last little glow of the sun's light was still visible on the horizon. We were all gazing straight up, watching the satellites glide through the bright starfield when Elin shouted, "What's
that?!"
She was pointing toward the horizon where the sun had gone down. Looking over, our coccoon of sleeping bags contracted as we flinched together in fear and suprise. We noticed two things: The first was that the glow of the dying sun had
expanded. The left side of the glow had grown along the horizon to the left and two large fingers of light were now reaching up into the sky, curving like a spiral to the right above the spot where the sun had set. Elin, who grew up in far north Sweden, assured us that this wasn't the aurora borealis (the northern lights). We might have dismissed this as some other atmospheric phenomenon if not for the other thing we saw.
About 10 degrees from the horizon, in the spot where the glowing fingers ended, it was a very bright light, seemingly far away, but moving fast. It was surrounded by a glowing halo quite similar to the light that had formed on the horizon. The halo's size was initially about the diameter of the full moon, and it grew as the object approached. It was much to bright to be a satellite, too big and not blinking to be an aircraft, too long lived to be a meteor.
We gibbered nervously as the light grew brighter and the halo expanded, making it seem as if it were approaching us. Over the course of a few minutes, it became apparent that it was coming closer, but was also going to pass us on our right. We watched it as it reached its closest point to us and then continued sliding across the sky to our right, parallel with the horizon the whole way, until it grew more distant and faded near the spot where the sun would be rising in a few hours. As it dissapeared in the distance, so faded the glow that had appeared at its origin. The sky returned to near blackness as we caught our breath and speculated, excitedly nervous.
I have never seen anything like that in my life. I have no easy explanation. So much going on there at the same time to seem natural, but I'm not blaming the LGM either. Still, it was the first time in years that I was genuinely shocked by anything. Watching it, we all felt like children. Quite a gift.
