I was worried about the weather; we were set to leave for the grasslands to the east of the city early next morning. The night before, the concierge had called. A friend of mine, he had arranged our transport and lodging, with a private driver and at a resort about two hours from Hushi; now that I was back in town he wanted to finalize the deal and address any concerns I might have by meeting the driver and making our needs and requests clear to him. After dinner with the manager, I had met them in the hotel lobby at nine o'clock, and had asked the driver about prices for horse-riding, meals, etc. I was tolerably pleased with the answers, and now if only the weather would hold, we would be all set.
The day of the excursion dawned fair and sunny, and by all accounts would remain so. The concierge ushered us into the four wheel drive Ford vehicle, and we were off. Our driver was fast and relatively savvy; scarily, many of the drivers on the highway were not. I ignored many of the differences in driving etiquette, only pressing my invisible break a few times. I was too charmed by the countryside, now so transformed from the yellows and browns of spring to green pastures and fields blue with the blossom of local potatoes. The only moment where I truly could not avoid noticing the road danger was on a mountain pass, where a Mack truck came around a blind curve, in our lane, passing another Mack. Our driver slammed on the brakes and veered slightly to the right; had he veered too hard we would have hit a concrete barrier. Not the most fun I've ever had on the open road.
Soon we left behind all of the trucks headed to Beijing, as we got off of the highway and headed north on a provincial road for a while. Turning east again, the road took us past "Sleeping Buddha Mountain," which really did resemble a person under Mongolian-style welcome drink in the grassland covers with feet sticking up at the end. This marked our ascent into yet higher ground. Our driver pointed and said, "Once we pass through those mountains, we are there." We rose higher and higher, and passed through rounded hills on either side. Suddenly we were through, and we saw the hills open out onto vastness. Green waves of folding land as far as the eye could see, and brilliant white giants everywhere: windmills, harnessing the power of the sweeping winds in the open plain.
Soon after driving into the plain we pulled onto a side road and wound our way through the windmills, until we arrived at the parking lot of the resort. The driver told us to wait in the car while he "helped us check in." We got out and stretched, and then the music began. Turning round, we saw a man in dark glasses at a keyboard, and men and women in Mongolian silks and hats, singing as they walked smiling towards us, scarves across their palms and bottles of a clear liquid ready to be poured into little cups. Our driver said, "You must drink!" The clear liquid was nai jiu - milk alcohol; we all downed our cups, the music ended, and we were free to walk through the front gate.
The front gate led into a large plaza, where crowds can assemble to watch performances on a stage which is graced with a statue of Genghis Khan. We walked around a bit while the staff finished cleaning our "yurts." We didn't stay in the canvas yurts on the property (although some people had opted to that night) but rather in cabin-like plaster "yurts" with indoor plumbing, beds, and other comforts (like an electric kettle for boiling water). We were never really given a reason why we were booked in the plaster yurts instead of the canvas ones (we didn't know there was a choice), but it wasn't much of a sacrifice. If I'm going to sleep in a real yurt, I would rather it belonged to a family that had invited me, not to a hotel that is housing me.
We had been told that it was too hot to ride as yet, so we settled into our cabin-yurts and rested. Dad and I both conked out. Mom, amazingly, had a signal that her iPhone could use before reading a new novel that she had brought with her. Our driver, Mr. Bao, was in effect our travel China guide, and he had thus far been sticking to us like glue, very concerned that we found the hygiene of the cabins up to standard, understood how to lock our doors, etc. He only left us at the last possible moment, and we would discover that he was always at least ten minutes early. He would say, "Meet you at three o'clock" and then turn up at fifteen 'til to hurry us along, setting out five minutes before agreed upon. Thus Dad and I headed out with Mr. Bao to meet our horses and haggle over the price.
The horses and their keepers were all in one field up above a gully called "Yellow Flower Canyon." Mr. Bao got very animated in speaking to the bosses, saying, "Give them some safe horses, old mares, don't let them go too fast," etc. I found his concern for our safety interesting, as I had noticed a total lack of regard for safety in some tourist areas. It was appreciated, nonetheless. If anything our lead was they were everywhere! Be cautious, never letting us handle the reins (even on flat ground) and making us walk for half our "ride" as the ground was very steep and rocky. The first precaution I can understand: the horses might not have minded us. But the second took a lot of the ride out of our ride.
As we were walked out of the corral by our lead, I asked some question or other and he was surprised that I spoke Chinese. He asked where we were from and how long I had been in China. I asked him if he could speak Mongolian; he said no, but he had lived out here in the grassland much of his life. As we passed the last of the fences, my horse (a beauty) pricked his ears forward, and I had only just spotted the horses coming our way when he let out a thundering whinny, as did the mare that Dad was riding. I asked our lead, "Why did he neigh like that?" The man's answer was "打个招呼" - "Saying hello."
The day of the excursion dawned fair and sunny, and by all accounts would remain so. The concierge ushered us into the four wheel drive Ford vehicle, and we were off. Our driver was fast and relatively savvy; scarily, many of the drivers on the highway were not. I ignored many of the differences in driving etiquette, only pressing my invisible break a few times. I was too charmed by the countryside, now so transformed from the yellows and browns of spring to green pastures and fields blue with the blossom of local potatoes. The only moment where I truly could not avoid noticing the road danger was on a mountain pass, where a Mack truck came around a blind curve, in our lane, passing another Mack. Our driver slammed on the brakes and veered slightly to the right; had he veered too hard we would have hit a concrete barrier. Not the most fun I've ever had on the open road.
Soon we left behind all of the trucks headed to Beijing, as we got off of the highway and headed north on a provincial road for a while. Turning east again, the road took us past "Sleeping Buddha Mountain," which really did resemble a person under Mongolian-style welcome drink in the grassland covers with feet sticking up at the end. This marked our ascent into yet higher ground. Our driver pointed and said, "Once we pass through those mountains, we are there." We rose higher and higher, and passed through rounded hills on either side. Suddenly we were through, and we saw the hills open out onto vastness. Green waves of folding land as far as the eye could see, and brilliant white giants everywhere: windmills, harnessing the power of the sweeping winds in the open plain.
Soon after driving into the plain we pulled onto a side road and wound our way through the windmills, until we arrived at the parking lot of the resort. The driver told us to wait in the car while he "helped us check in." We got out and stretched, and then the music began. Turning round, we saw a man in dark glasses at a keyboard, and men and women in Mongolian silks and hats, singing as they walked smiling towards us, scarves across their palms and bottles of a clear liquid ready to be poured into little cups. Our driver said, "You must drink!" The clear liquid was nai jiu - milk alcohol; we all downed our cups, the music ended, and we were free to walk through the front gate.
The front gate led into a large plaza, where crowds can assemble to watch performances on a stage which is graced with a statue of Genghis Khan. We walked around a bit while the staff finished cleaning our "yurts." We didn't stay in the canvas yurts on the property (although some people had opted to that night) but rather in cabin-like plaster "yurts" with indoor plumbing, beds, and other comforts (like an electric kettle for boiling water). We were never really given a reason why we were booked in the plaster yurts instead of the canvas ones (we didn't know there was a choice), but it wasn't much of a sacrifice. If I'm going to sleep in a real yurt, I would rather it belonged to a family that had invited me, not to a hotel that is housing me.
We had been told that it was too hot to ride as yet, so we settled into our cabin-yurts and rested. Dad and I both conked out. Mom, amazingly, had a signal that her iPhone could use before reading a new novel that she had brought with her. Our driver, Mr. Bao, was in effect our travel China guide, and he had thus far been sticking to us like glue, very concerned that we found the hygiene of the cabins up to standard, understood how to lock our doors, etc. He only left us at the last possible moment, and we would discover that he was always at least ten minutes early. He would say, "Meet you at three o'clock" and then turn up at fifteen 'til to hurry us along, setting out five minutes before agreed upon. Thus Dad and I headed out with Mr. Bao to meet our horses and haggle over the price.
The horses and their keepers were all in one field up above a gully called "Yellow Flower Canyon." Mr. Bao got very animated in speaking to the bosses, saying, "Give them some safe horses, old mares, don't let them go too fast," etc. I found his concern for our safety interesting, as I had noticed a total lack of regard for safety in some tourist areas. It was appreciated, nonetheless. If anything our lead was they were everywhere! Be cautious, never letting us handle the reins (even on flat ground) and making us walk for half our "ride" as the ground was very steep and rocky. The first precaution I can understand: the horses might not have minded us. But the second took a lot of the ride out of our ride.
As we were walked out of the corral by our lead, I asked some question or other and he was surprised that I spoke Chinese. He asked where we were from and how long I had been in China. I asked him if he could speak Mongolian; he said no, but he had lived out here in the grassland much of his life. As we passed the last of the fences, my horse (a beauty) pricked his ears forward, and I had only just spotted the horses coming our way when he let out a thundering whinny, as did the mare that Dad was riding. I asked our lead, "Why did he neigh like that?" The man's answer was "打个招呼" - "Saying hello."
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