Women of Mongolia

Today we flew from Olgii back to Ulaanbaatar landing safely at around 2pm.  It was strange to be back in a big city after so many days in the wilderness.  Having conducted so many interviews about the effects of technology on the lives of Mongolian women in Altai, we were struck by all the advertisements for smart-phones, wifi service, cameras, computers and other technology almost everywhere we looked in Ulaanbaatar.  Clearly Mongolia is undergoing a sort of “new-media”wave but it is still unclear exactly where that wave will take the culture and how things will change in time.  We spent the rest of the afternoon searching for souvenirs to buy for the kickstarter campaign for the film. When we woke up the following morning, we spent most of the day downloading footage and organizing our research materials. For our final dinner, we went to a traditional hot-pot restaurant, and then climbed up one of Ulaanbaatar’s hills to film some footage of the city at night. It was a great way to end our trip in Mongolia before heading back to London August 3^rd.  We are so grateful to have been on such a wonderful trip, and a huge thank you to everyone who has been following this blog!

Today was our final day in Olgii before heading back to Ulaanbaatar. We woke up late and decided that we would spend the day normalizing our bodies and wrapping everything up with our guide. We typed up notes and walked through the dusty streets towards the only restaurant in town we liked for both lunch and dinner. We did the same hike we did on our first day in Olgii, laughing as we debriefed on all of the memories we had shared from our trip to the Altai wilderness. We were happy with our footage, and even happier to have met such amazing women in the field. This province has an extremely rich culture, and there is much to learn from the people here. For a land as remote and untouched as the National Park surrounding Bayan-Olgii, its people are extremely wise and kind. As we looked out into the late-afternoon sky on our final hike, we felt satisfied as our journey was coming to a close. Eagles danced across the sky, and the heavy nighttime air engulfed us; we were delighted by all we had seen, heard and accomplished.

This morning, the sky is bright blue— rain gone, horizon clear. We get up slowly to heat the stove for coffee and tea. The nomads nearby have been up for hours already, feeding the animals and milking the cows. The women are especially active— we see them walk back and forth with pails and bowls.

After breakfast, we finish our final interview of the trip— one of the interviews we have come all of this way to conduct. For an hour we sit inside the closest ger, talking to fourteen-year-old eagle huntress Ashol Pan about her perspective on eagle hunting. She was deeply humble— natural and unaffected— in no way performing for us, or projecting herself artificially. She spoke about eagle hunting shyly, mentioning her pride in the art, her love of catching prey, and the difficulty of heading out into the freezing winter. For now, she seems completely unaffected by her fame, despite the news headlines hanging around her ger. Ashol Pan told us that she hopes to become a doctor in the future, and that this fall she will begin teaching her younger sister how to eagle hunt. Despite the photograph of actress, Michelle Rodriguez (famous for The Fast and the Furious), on her wall, she knows next to nothing about Hollywood actors and actresses, or about the world they inhabit. Instead, her inspiration, she says, is her mother because she brought her into this world.

In January she will travel to New York City for the first time, to attend the premiere of a documentary that is being made about her by the BBC. When she tells us about her family’s upcoming travel plans, her eyes light up; but they do not shine for the premiere— they shine for her chance to visit the country she has always dreamed of visiting.

At the end of the interview with Ashol Pan, we packed up our things and headed back to Olgii.  It had been another incredible day.

Today we woke up early, excited to interview the mother of fourteen-year-old eagle huntress, Ashol Pan.  Through a stroke of good luck, we have been privileged to spend two nights with this young eagle huntress’s family, playing pick-up basketball on a make-shift dirt court, and sharing hearty plates of rice and bowls of milk tea. We have been openly welcomed into her family’s ger in Han Gohadok, a region to the southeast of Olgii, and are anxious to learn about the impact of Ashol Pan’s ‘discovery’ and sudden celebrity on her family.

As we approached the ger, two Golden Eagles perched no more than ten feet away gave us a wary glance. Their feathers were a gorgeous, rich cinnamon-brown but their hooked yellow beaks, ominous talons, and fierce stare warned us not to get too close. When we entered the ger, Ashol Pan’s mother greeted us warmly, as had many other women we spoke with, however there was a certain aura of grace and sincerity about this woman that somehow distinguished her from other women we had interviewed.  We could sense her genuineness and also a tangible strength and determination.  For someone whose daughter had received recent fame, she was immensely humble.

We started our interview and she explained her simple life in the countryside.  She said the only thing she truly cared about was her children and that she wanted them to be successful. She said educating her children was the most important thing for her and that they were her greatest pride. She also took a particular interest in her daughters, saying that she wanted to give them as many opportunities as she could. She wanted Ashol Pan’s story to empower women across Mongolia to pursue their education and also to learn more about the noble, eagle-hunting tradition. She said that technology has been extremely helpful in educating and connecting her family to the outside world and that, in the future, she feels technology could potentially be used as a tool to help preserve and disseminate awareness about her culture.  Although she expressed some worry that too much fame might turn out to be bad for both her daughter and her family, she was truly enthusiastic about new technology. It was clear to everyone that this woman was an amazing mother and an extremely wise woman.  All her children were hard workers, intelligent, and kind; a direct result of her good parenting.

Next we interviewed Ashol Pan’s aunt, her mother’s sister, who lived right next door. This interview was interesting primarily from a research standpoint because her family had a different cell provider than the other families we talked to in the region. When we concluded the interview we discovered it was raining and decided to cancel our afternoon hike. Instead, we ran to our tent, downloaded footage, and all watched a movie on a laptop together until the rain passed.

When the dark grey clouds finally cleared, we returned to Ashol Pan’s ger and asked if she wanted to use our camera to film her eagles.  Her eyes lit up with an enthusiastic “yes”.  As we taught her to use the equipment, two other little girls came over and started playing with our hair, watching their older sister work the camera.  As the sun set over the distant mountains, we could not have been more grateful to have spent this day in the Altai wilderness with this eagle huntress, her incredible mother, and their family.

Today was an amazing day!  After packing up camp, we trekked out to the homes of two Kazakh eagle-hunting families.  Officially protected by UNESCO, falconry has been practiced by Kazakh nomads in this part of the world for thousands of years. Ghengis Kahn supposedly had over 5000 eagle hunters in his personal guard.  Today, this form of hunting is still practiced by Kazakh and Kygryz peoples, including refugees living in Bayan-Olgii, Mongolia and Xinjiang, China.  During the winter months, nomadic families in Bayan-Olgii hunt with Golden Eagles for fox and hare, using the fur for hats, and clothing. Each October, the Golden Eagle hunters (there are only approximately 400 of them left in the world) hold a festival in Bayaan Olgii, turning out in richly embellished dress, mounted on elaborately groomed horses, to demonstrate their skill.

When we entered the gers of these two eagle hunting families we were astounded by the ornate decorations that covered the interior.  The standard Mongolian gers we had visited previously, had low ceilings and simple interiors, but these Kazakh gers were tall and intricately-embroidered inside.  Bright oranges, various shades of red and green, and magenta adorned the walls.  Almost neon-colored rugs overlapped one another on the floors and had been hand-embroidered by the women we interviewed. Fur hats, animal hides, eagle-hunting certificates, family photographs, and tufts of owl feathers hung from the walls. The first Kazakh family had a separate kitchen ger, not the now familiar hearth in the middle of their home like other Mongolian families we had visited.

It was fascinating to learn how these two women defined themselves.  Because they live in Mongolia, they said, they think of themselves as Mongolian first rather than identifying with their Kazakh ethnic heritage. They both said that there was no difference between Kazakh women and Mongolian women except for the fact that they spoke different languages.

One of our standard interview questions was, “What does it mean to be beautiful?” When we asked this question to other Mongolian women, most all of them spoke about “inner beauty” saying that beauty was a reflection of the spirit within, and that every woman was somehow beautiful in her own way.  However, when we asked these ethnic Kazakh women about their definition of beauty, both spoke of external beauty. They talked about eye-shape, long hair, and beautiful smiles.  Physical beauty was important to them and their answers reflected their lifestyle.  Their homes, so carefully decorated, exhibited a pride in aesthetics.  These Kazakh families cared about appearance.  Ornamentation and material things were clearly valued.

We left these two Kazakh women to complete one more interview nearby before packing up for the day.  The next woman we spoke with was excited to be interviewed on-camera and got all dressed-up in traditional Mongolian finery to talk to us.  She was a schoolteacher and talked about the importance of education.  Like the other teacher we had interviewed, she also thought the use of technology in schools enhanced opportunities for all. At the end of her interview, she wanted to sing a traditional Mongolian “long song” for us. The ancient tradition of Mongolian “long song” is named such, not only because of the duration of the singing (sometimes as long as 5 or 10-minutes) but also because each syllable of the words sung is exaggerated and extended.  A five-minute performance might consist of only ten words.  The “long song” is meant to reflect the tranquility of the Mongolian soul and the words often depict the mountainous landscapes in which they are sung.  This woman told us she had won many “long song” competitions and  wanted to share her skill with us.  Closing her eyes, she started singing.  The melody was slow and meditational.  Within seconds the entire room was transported to another place.  It was exquisite.

After saying goodbye, we got into our jeep and headed East in search of a particular eagle hunting family.  We wanted to find the family of a fourteen-year-old girl named Ashol Pan, the daughter of a prominent eagle hunter in the area. Ashol Pan’s image was shared internationally on social media a couple of years ago after she was photographed by Israeli photographer, Asher Svidensky who had embarked on a journey to photograph the Kazakh eagle hunters. Svidensky’s photographs made headlines back in 2014, but little has since been written about the eagle hunters he found and especially, the young woman he followed through the mountains.

When we finally arrived at Ashol Pan’s family ger it was getting dark and we were greeted, as always, with milk tea and curd.  The family helped us set up our tent. We gave all the children pens and paper, and they sat on the ground and drew pictures around us while we cooked our dinner.  After a meal of canned vegetables, rice and seaweed all stewed together, we joined in a game of pickup basketball (we were by far the worst players!) and played duck-duck-goose with the little children until the sun went down. It was a truly special end to an equally special day.

This morning we left Olgii for the land of the eagle hunters in the East of Bayan-Olgii Province. We bumped along in our Russian jeep until we eventually reached an open, grassy landscape spotted by white gers. Herds of animals grazed and drank from the stream that poured through the valley, and stray dogs sat lazily under the shade of the big shaman tree on the outskirts of the community.  Like other nomadic communities we had visited, this valley was also lush and green, huddled between dry and barren mountains. We pulled up outside one of the gers, which belonged to our guide, Bat’s* mother-in-law, said hello, and were served some milk-tea. We then ventured on to some of the other gers and seeking out two different women to interview.

The first woman was an older woman who lived with her husband as a nomad in the summer, but said she preferred living in Olgii to the countryside, especially in the winter. She said that she liked having access to civilization, and that it was too hard to be a nomad the bitter winter months without the more modern comforts of the city. The second woman we interviewed was a schoolteacher. She was young and impressionable, and kept looking at our guide for affirmation that she had answered our questions correctly. All around her ger animal innards were drying. A fresh goat head sat raw on the stool next to me. She described using the computers in her school as learning tools. She loved having them as a resource and was certain she could better her student’s educations with increased access to technology.

In the afternoon, we hiked up to the highest peak that surrounded the community. We looked out as the sun set over the valley, and filmed as the light turned a deep gold reflecting off the rocks in the dried-up river bed below.  We were particularly tired this evening.  Our day had been full, so we decided to make a quick dinner and go to bed early in our tent.

It is the 26^th of July. We are now more than halfway through our time in Bayan-Olgii.  After an unexpected alteration to our itinerary, we are back in Olgii for another round of interviews. Before we left for Tavan Bogd National Park we interviewed two women— one Kazakh and one Dorvod (a minority Mongolian ethnic group). Today, we plan to interview a woman from an Urianhai family and a woman from the Tuvan ethnic group— both contacted via our guide.  In the early afternoon, we climb back into Bat’s* Russian jeep. His car has become a second home for us— a familiar refuge from mosquitoes and heat— and  we take our regular seats.

It takes us just five-minutes to reach the first house. When we arrive Bat* takes us into a spotless, white kitchen. It feels semi-nomadic— the bridge between a ger and a permanent home. In the back corner, there is a miniature traditional stove called a zuukh. There are cupboards and a table heaped with the usual gestures of hospitality— curd, sweets, and fried bread. Our hostess, Altantsetseg*, is gracious. She serves us milk tea as her husband chats exuberantly with our guide. After several minutes we shift rooms, to the living room, where we begin our interview.

Our interview process is almost muscle memory now— a slew of questions about the use of new media technologies before a more nuanced exploration of life for Mongolian nomadic women.  This woman does not have a smartphone, but interestingly, has two separate regular cellphone plans— one for her job as a cook at the local military base and one for her personal life. It seems that she often receives work orders via text, and her phone is a valuable means of communication with wider networks.

Her living room is an exercise in juxtaposition— half ‘traditional,’ half ‘modern.’ Unlike the other homes we’ve visited she has a desktop computer set up next to a large Morin khuur, or traditional Mongolian guitar, and a rug depicting galloping horses. When we ask her about the desktop computer she explains that it is no longer in use, but that her children formerly used it for school. Now, her son, who studies economics in Dubai, has his own laptop and has no need for the desktop. The computer has become a part of the household décor.

Altantsetseg* was born into a nomadic family. She moved to Olgii after her husband received a job with the military. While she notes the difference in ease of life between the countryside and Olgii, she plans to retire to the countryside in the future. Currently, her second son, the student in Dubai, spends each summer holiday with his grandparents— herding in the countryside. And Altantsetseg*, who has a deep love of Mongolia’s wild nature, glows as she tells us about her son’s summer excursions.

This underlying loyalty to the land points at a larger trend. For all of the nomads we have interviewed, landscape is central to identity. It makes me wonder about the extent to which nomadism itself is informed by a deep-rooted reverence for nature. Is nomadism a mindset or a lifestyle grounded in a specific phenomenological experience? With the increase in digital technologies, will this connection to the natural world shift? Will the desire for technological engagement simultaneously erode nomadic values, or fit within an already-existent paradigm?

When we leave Altantsetseg’s* house I look for the typical ger in her front-yard, but there is only a dusty car.

Today we packed up and left our campsite for the Kazakh lake-district deeper into the Tavan Bogd National Park. About four hours into the drive, we stopped at a river crossing because our driver, Bat*, was complaining of terrible stomach pain. His discomfort appeared so acute that we were scared his health might be seriously compromised.  He told us he thought he might have appendicitis, so we immediately made decision to turn around and head to the nearest soum in search of cell reception and a doctor. When we reached the closest town with cell reception, we called a doctor in the United States and described Bat’s* symptoms.  The doctor reassured us that it did not sound like appendicitis and that he was most likely just dehydrated.  Nevertheless, because we had already turned around and Bat* was still not feeling well, we decided to head back to Olgii to make sure that he was truly alright before we ventured back into the wilderness.

After a stressful afternoon, and a ten hour drive, we made it back to Olgii just before midnight.  Exhausted, we were greeted by a warm shower and a clean bed which, after a week of camping, felt amazing. Although we missed out on the lakes, we were all secretly glad to have a good night sleep free of howling winds and midnight goat attacks.

The next day our guide, Bat*, took the day to rest and get well while we typed up our notes, charged our equipment, and replenished our supplies.  Because Augusta wanted more urban interviews anyway, we decided we would film in Olgii for a couple of days, and then head back out to the East to interview the Kazakh eagle hunting families the on the 27^th of July.

We wake up. Behind us, a long slope leads to a wide glacial lake. The sun is bright. Our campsite sits overlooking several others, but we are hidden from view. Next to us a river rushes, picking up silt. In the morning light, the water glints— welcoming. Water is always welcoming here, where the sun is often hot on our faces. After breakfast (granola, apples, and coffee), we wash clothes and write notes. It is a morning of reflection— our first in several days.

After lunch, we walk two kilometers to interview several families— four, in total. Up through and past boulders, we climb towards a small enclosure where three gers are perched. The door of the first is open, and our guide, *Bat takes us inside.

The woman at the door has a round, open face.  She is small and her eyebrows are carefully arched. Around her neck a jeweled pendant hangs—twinkling in the partial light— and she wears a black sweater over a dress and black leggings. Her table is heaped with curd, fried bread, and chocolates. She takes four bowls from her shelf, and fills them with steaming milk tea. I watch the bowls, their fine Chinese designs reminders that this place is not as remote as it feels.

After tea we interview the woman. Like others we have met she has a D-dish, which powers her television. She has a feature phone, and does not have a radio. She uses her phone to call friends and family, but rarely for business, and wishes she could get better access to service. Television is her ‘tool’ of choice— her main source for news and entertainment. She watches channel 5, Mongolian National Broadcasting, for global news, and watches ‘Malchen,’ or ‘Herder,’ the nomadic channel, for lifestyle tips.

While there is only one point nearby (7kms. away) to access cell service, she can watch 60+ channels on her D-dish— a solar-cum-battery-powered contraption located where the Buddhist altar commonly stands. Television has become a core part of her daily routine, especially in the evenings and mornings.

*Munckchimeg is Tuvin, a Mongolian minority ethnic group, and she speaks a unique dialect— part Kazakh, part Mongolian. Still, like the other women we have interviewed she is quick to emphasize that she is Mongolian— an identity born of the landscape in which she lives.

The ‘landscape’ of her ger is distinct from gers in the eastern part of Mongolia. Here, colorful embellishments speak of kinesthetic knowledge— a wisdom carried through sewing circles and female dexterity. When she mentions that her youngest son is learning to embroider, and that he hopes to sell his wares to tourists into the future, it seems that western exposure and the appeal of a souvenir-fueled market are shifting gender conventions. The family’s primary source of income has switched from dairy products and cashmere, to a business founded on the rental of camels and horses to tourist companies. Coupled with an increase in technology, foreign tourism is changing the family’s priorities and values.

In Tavan Bogd National Park globalization has already stepped over the threshold ….

The air was colder this morning.  All grey mist when we emerged from our tent.  Around 10am, we embarked on our morning hike, steadily making our way up one of the multiple, high-rising mountain peaks surrounding the valley. The swirling wind encompassed our bodies as we set off, slowing our progress uphill.  It took some time to reach the summit, but once we emerged we could easily make out the familiar, snow-white gers polka-dotting the verdant landscape below.  Smoke from the gers‘ chimneys snaked through the moisture and reminded us of the glow of the fire and people within.

The ger’s design is especially friendly and embracing.  Because it is shaped in a circle, no one inside is ever left out.  Everyone within its circumference is included.  There is no place to hide and all interaction is focused on a central hearth. In every ger, the family’s beds, dressers, tables and cupboards surround the fireplace in the middle. The Mongolian nomadic home is set up in a manner that reflects their culture. The people here are highly family-oriented–each member integral to the whole–and the ring of community is seen as essential to life. Our local guide told us that Mongolians believe their doors should always be left open to any traveler who wants to enter their home.  Every ger we have visited reflects that sensibility.

As we made our way back down the mountain, we stopped to interview an old women from a tiny community along the path. She met us in traditional Mongolian dress: a richly woven, pink-silk, full-length gown with matching headdress. Her hair was tucked neatly under her turban and the rest of her outfit was adorned with traditional Mongolian pins and elaborately embroidered flowers. The deep wrinkles in her face seemed to reflect both wisdom and decency.  Towards the end of the interview, we asked the woman (as we had others) if she had a traditional folktale or story she could share with us.  The woman paused in thought and then told us that she would sing a song about Tuvan children playing in the wilderness. The room went still and then she began to sing.  She wasn’t a particularly good singer.  Her crackled voice was decidedly out of tune and, in another venue, her attempt might have seemed awkward, but there was something about the authenticity in her voice and the sincerity of her effort that could not have been more beautiful. She lulled us into her past, singing the tale of her childhood. Even on that cold, gloomy day we left filled-up inside; nourished by song of an old woman crooning her youth.