TRAVEL ARTICLE FINAL
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Transcript of TRAVEL ARTICLE FINAL
Good Times
The Kazak Journey not to be missed
The Mongolian Derby Immerse yourself in the race
Sanctuary: A tibetan journey bask yourself in distant peace
Discover China
China Issue
Through the eyes of the travelers:
The Mark of Friendship Experience true friendship
About the Author
My name is Max. As a 24 year old travel writer, (naturally) I love to explore the world. For me, it is much more than just a job or a hobby. It’s a passion. It is a part of me that will forever be there. Wanderlust. You could say I have it, and you would be right. To me, there is no greater prize to be won than to see new cultures, meet new people, and (my favorite) eat new foods. You simply can’t put a price on that. I graduated early, as a Lit major out of Yale University early last year. I realized that I honestly didn't need the most fancy of degrees, or the best-paying of jobs to be happy with my choices in life. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve made the best ones I ever could’ve had.
Hello, my name is Rohan. Throughout my life I have loved traveling. Whether it’s to China, the Philippines, or even Brazil, if you are going on a trip you can count me in. I was born in Manilla, Philippines on July 25th, 1989. Other then traveling I enjoy: reading, writing, eating, cooking, playing tennis, and spending time with others. However, I only started to truly pursue my love of travel after graduating from Princeton University. Following my passion for travel, I became a travel writer. I haven’t looked back since.
Hello! My name is Michael, and I am the writer of the Kazak people in the magazine. I graduated from Yale University. I was born in Houston, Texas on December 20th, 1989. I have been traveling all over the globe for over 5 years now, writing about the experiences that I have. Other than traveling, I enjoy: swimming, eating exotic cuisine, reading, and spending time with my friends and family. I enjoy writing these articles because I get to explore new cultures and places.
Joe, a Brooklyn native, spends his time playing basketball. He moved to Washington D.C. to play pursue a future basketball career, at Dematha High School. This move was a major success and he was a top sought after high school prospect. Quillin, a top notch player, had many choices of where to play college basketball, and in the end decided Notre Dame was the best fit, to fulfill his basketball and writing careers. After 4 years at Notre Dame, Joe decided to become a travel writer instead of further pursuing a basketball career, due to injury.
Table of Contents
May 2015The Kazak Journeyby Michael
Kazak Minority
The Mark of FriendshipBy Rohan
Dong Minority
SanctuaryBy Max
Tibetan Minority
The Mongolian DerbieBy Joe
Mongolian Minority
• The Kazakh people are mostly located in the northern part of Xinjiang province.
• Xinjiang province is to the northwest of Beijing.
• You can get to Xinjiang by plane in about 3h 25 minutes.
KEY: Kazakh People: BlueBeijing : YellowAbsolute Location of Kazakh People: 41°N 85°E
I watch the
beautiful sun set as I trek across the green
pasture. I had
decided to take some days off
from the polluted city of Beijing, to get some fresh air and see the some of the culture of the country that I live in. After flying in to Xinjiang
province, I meander around
the grassy plains in northwestern
China, hoping to find the Kazak people, who beforehand I had
researched.
Then, in the
distance I see a cluster of small houses with people walking around, as if they were small ants doing their work. Around them there were horse riders,
perfectly in sync with
their horses. Galloping
around with pure skill and concentration, it was as if they were flying across the grass as one with the wind. They seemed to go across the large plain
of grass in a second, with that speed it was revealed to me straight away that they used horses because they were swift and easy to breed. I watch with
awe, then remember why I am here.
I race over
in my jeep to the nomadic people, the Kazak, and
introduce myself. I meet Nurasyl, the village leader. He wears a large coat made out of sheepskins, because of the enormous amount of sheep
that they herd. He also had a belt with heavy decorations and
a glimmering, well polished,
white straight sword hanging
on his right side.
He takes me
outside and I see the yurts. A yurt is a small, movable, and
comfortable house. They are made from
three main elements: a base, a dome made of poles, and a round
top. It is easy to take apart, and can be carried by horses and
camels. They are decorated beautifully, with a symbol that looks like a snowflake on the sides of them. The yurts are quite big, with about four to five people being able to sit down and eat. There are furs, like the ones on their clothes on the ground
serving as carpets. Inside it is beautifully decorated by handmade wall carpets and multi-colored embroideries.
The Kazak Journey By Michael
Why is Kazak Important
Nurasyl
invites me to eat with his whole family inside of his yurt. As we sit down I smell the aroma of lamb chops, beef, horse, and
many more types of meat. There is also a large amount of dairy products, such as butter and milk, because of the cows and goats grazing on the pasture. I also see that there is a lack of vegetables. Looking around I find that there is no pork on the table, and then I
remember that the Kazak people being
very pious people, are Muslim people.
I then quickly notice that everyone is staring at me. Nurasyl briskly motions to me, “You must cut the cheek off the sheep’s head
then put it back onto the plate. It is a sign of appreciation. Then you must cut an ear off
the sheep and
offer it to that the youngest person, or that little boy sitting
to the left of you. Then hand
the head back to me.” I nod in
thanks and
understanding. I do so, and then
we start the feast.
When I woke
up the next day, Nurasyl told me that he would
guide me around
the camp. I got out of my bed, and in surprise I saw on the top
of my clothes, was a pair of soft sheepskin
pants with an
overcoat made from camel hair. They feel so skillfully made and it was as if I was riding on
the animals themselves.
After
receiving my
new clothes, I was pondering
about something. It was part of the reason I needed
A standard Kazak yurt.
“I closely study each horse. Then, I finally made my choice. I selected a sleek black horse with
a mane as soft as a pillow.”
to come here. I went up to Nurasyl and
said, “I need to ride a horse on
your lands.”
Nurasyl
looked up, and
saw the need in
my eyes. He told
me, “Very well, you may ride a horse, but you
must find a horse first.” He led me to a small and
enclosed area about a quarter of a kilometer, where dozens of horses were grazing. “Choose any one,” he said. a
Walking
over to the grass, I closely study each
horse. Then, I finally made my choice. I selected a sleek black horse with
a mane as soft as a pillow. I could feel the Climbing onto him, boom
boom, boom
boom, I could
feel his heartbeat. As I sat up on his body, immediately I felt the wind
breezing onto my face. I galloped
towards Nurasyl, who was on his own horse. He led the way as we raced across the plain.
As we flew
through the grass, I could
feel the hot red
sun radiating its heat onto my back, the cool soft wind hitting
my face, and
touch my horse’s soft black hair. I loved every aspect of it. All of my senses were overloaded
on how much I could feel. I felt free at last from
my life in
Beijing.
Sadly the
next day, it was my time to
leave. I thanked
Nurasyl for all his help and
support. I looked back and
saw the field, and remember when I first saw
the riders around the yurts. I feel sad, but also happy at the same time. Sad that I have to leave this amazing
place, where they showed me how to live their lifestyle, but happy that I can
reflect on the beauty of where and how they live, and the new
friends I have bonded with.
Kazak
Human Environment Interaction
The environment has impacted the way Kazak’s live their lives. An example of this is how the Kazak's are nomadic people. They migrated seasonally to find pastures for their herds of: sheep, horses and goats. They needed to do this as goats and sheep were there main source of protein. Because of this Kazak's live in tent like structures known as Yurts. Yurts are round shaped structures that were very useful as they could easily transport them and the Yurts were able to protect them from the harsh plains in which they live on.
How Does the Environment Impact the Way They Live?
How Do They Impact the Environment?
Near to where the Kazak people live is a former nuclear testing site. Due to this that area has been exposed to radioactivity. Because of that there is a significant radioactive pollution that damages the environment and
the animals there. Although this is not the Kazak’s peoples doing it is still something that happens in there area and alters the environment. The only way the Kazak people alter their environment is that there large animals that they have in numbers eat a lot of grass in their area which alters the eco system especially in a time where finding pastures to feed on are scarce.
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-The Hunan province is where the majority of the Dong villages are located.
-Hunan is: south of Beijing, north of Hong Kong and west of Shanghai.
Key: Hunan Province: Blue Beijing: Yellow
Bridge cracking,
beads of sweat dropping, it felt as if the next step I took would bring the entire bridge down
crashing into the pond below. I was an
elephant walking on
eggshells. Each step
I took on the weak, old and cracked
wooden bridge that went over a small murky fishpond
made an alarming
creaking sound. It didn’t help to have a half a ton backpack on adding to my weight. Finally, after what seemed like an
eternity I had
reached the end and
immediately rushed
off. I was so nervous about breaking the weak old bridge that I had not even
gotten the chance to take in the quiet and
peaceful village
scenery. I could hear birds singing to the quiet hum of the wind that smoothly rushed through the massive Fir’s trees leaves. I continued
forward. The bird’s song pulled me towards the ancient alluring village.
The Dong
villagers smiled at me as they continued their daily commute in this small village of only 20-30 households. Like bees, they knew
what they had to do and flew around the village with a purpose. None of them meandered in
the village. I casually followed my local Dao Yu as we strolled through the uneven narrow dirt streets of the village. On each of my sides, there were strong
and weak, old and
young finish
carpenters polishing
off cabinets, tables, parts of boats and
chairs. It was a popular job there as their village was nestled in the forestry region of southern China that had a surplus of Fir trees. Throughout my stroll in the small packed village on
flat land in front of a range of hills, I kept on seeing a collection of grass wrapped and
secured together in
random places. I kept on wondering
what they were. Before I could ask, the village suddenly opened up into a massive semicircle like area right at the river’s edge. It was the largest open area of land that I had
seen so far in the village. I realized
why. It was the
The Mark of Friendship
By RohanWhy is Dong Important
center of their hive. The river in its self was beautiful but that was not what caught my eye. The grand drum tower, tall and
monumental, sat perched at the crystal clear river’s edge and demanded
it to be noticed. I continued walking
forward not looking
at the path but looking up at the towering 16 story tower. Its beauty mesmerized me,
calling me towards it. I noticed small rows of pictures of a female like person
on each level of the building. The hushed
river and the elegant drum tower made for a peaceful beginning
here in the village especially after my journey.
It was tranquil start after a two-hour plane ride, a five-hour ride in a toaster on wheels then a uphill then
down hill climb
through the hilly area of Hunan. To top it all off, I had to trudge through a dense forest of the Hunan province that put my thigh
muscles to the test. I was not actually meant to go here. It was more of a pit stop. I was traveling
from Beijing down
south to the Philippines but our plane had to stop
here in Hunan for three days due to technical issues. So I decided to go around and explore Hunan and the Dong
people while I had
time. So far it was definitely a good
choice to come.
Jerry, my friendly guide, led me under the tower to begin
my first activity there: Carpentry. I had rarely done any sort of woodwork at
A traditional Dong Drum Tower
my own house so the very idea of doing it here did not seem so exciting or interesting. Jerry began by showing
me how to make the main body of the table that would
support all the things put on top of it. He started out with a large rectangular piece of dark brown Fir wood
with a smooth
texture. From then
on, he cut it into a circle using a saw
like tool then
polished it off using
a brush with black bristles and a wooden handle. It reminded me of shoe polisher. Jerry made the whole process look easy. But when he handed
me my own piece of wood it was quite the opposite. I was expecting it to be light so when he
handed it to me I had not prepared for it and my legs almost paid the price. With my muscles tensing, nerves popping, I struggled to lift it up. Jerry, seeing how
I was struggling, quickly rushed in
and helped me lift it. He laid it down on
the floor and
brought in a stand to put it on. He then
gave me his saw that I would use to cut it in a circle. I could
not even start to cut the table. I just added a bunch of scratches that and
marks that made it looked like an
aggressive cat had
just attacked it. Watching Jerry just sink his saw into it and cut it as if it was butter made me jealous of his carpentry skill. Jerry, seeing how mad I
was that I could not even complete a simple task, decided
to do something
else. Jerry and I sauntered out of the tower and to an altar to in an attempt to take my mind of carpentry. It was a peaceful
corner of the village that was untouched
by the hustle of the rest of the village. Just as we arrived an
old man with a prayer stick that he had just lighted, tottered away. You
could smell the incense of the burned out prayer stick. He wore a piece of cloth
wrapped around his head decorated with
black line patterns and colored green
strings at the each
end of the cloth. His
“… tables in this village are what bring everyone together. It was what made them a family.”
body was clad with a sleeveless brown
shirt that had a white line down the middle with green, white and blue patterns decorated
throughout it. To top
it all off, he wore short plain brown
shorts and slippers. The clothing was ideal especially for the hot climate that they get all year round. Due to their location the weather is also convenient for farming and
fishing which are also popular jobs besides carpentry. I smiled at the man
and he smiled back at me, showing off
his set of crooked
yellowish teeth that were missing in
some areas. But nonetheless, it was a smile that somehow
made me feel as if I was accepted here in
this village. Jerry
brought me to the altar and told me about the Dong
people’s main deity Sa Ma Qing Sui. The altar assaulted my eyes with an
avalanche of gold
decorations. The predominantly wooden village juxtaposed with the gold altar was very unusual yet eye catching. Jerry went on to tell me that she is a land
goddess and that they pray to her a lot to make her happy and receive a good
harvest.
To my shock,
the day had gone by so fast and it was already time for dinner. Fishing had
gone by in a blur and I had not really spent that much
time on carpentry. In
the center under the drum tower there was a pit with a fire
going and a fish
being roasted. I could hear the crackling sensation
of the fire and the quite laughs and
chatters of the Dong
people in the back round as I gazed up
to the top of the drum tower. The atmosphere was vibrant yet it still did
not cheer me up
after my failure earlier that today. As much as I love the gregarious Dong
people, I was still feeling ashamed of myself. Jerry caught my attention then
brought me to a table and we sat together with rest of his family. His wife and two twelve-year-old sons were at the table. As I came to sit down, both brothers immediately stopped
poking and bugging
each other as if
someone had flicked
a switch in their brain. Throughout the rest of the night Jerry was talking
about funny family stories that I only laughed half-heartedly at. I was given rice, fish and
corn, the staple food
of the Dong
minority. They eat it a lot there, as it is so convenient to get, they get the fish
from the river beside the village and the
rice from there farming land.
Throughout
dinner I could only think about how I could not make a simple table today. It was a definite blow
to my “manly” ego. Jerry knew that I wasn’t happy. So he asked me if I have any questions about their community. I thought back and
realized that I did
have a question. I asked him about
those pieces of grass lying around. “The mark” he said. He probably saw my confused face, so he explained further. He told me that they remove grass or other plants from
the ground and wrap
them together, secure them with a tie and place them
somewhere. The mark is left in a significant location
to someone. The mark can signify love, friendship,
Corn hanging in the Dong Village
danger and even
disdain.
After dinner, I thanked Jerry for the meal and did not stay for the dancing
and singing which is a traditional thing
that the Dong people enjoy doing
especially during
festivals. Instead, I quietly and tiredly walked back to the small hut. The strong wind aiding
me and pushing me forward towards my hut. The hut was built for visiting
representatives of other villages. All houses in the village are small due to the amount of space they have in in this region that has very dense forests, which
do not allow much
space.
Although, in
comparison to the other houses the hut
was so very small that it could only accommodate one person. The only thing in it was a bed
and a side table. Half of the hut was in the shallow end of the river and half it was on land. The only thing that kept the hut from getting wet was the stilts that it was on. When I came into the one room
shack I heard an
eerie creaking sound
that the stilts had
made. I was half paranoid that it was going to break, but I decided to just call it a day. I laid my head
down on the rock that was a pillow and
drifted off to sleep.
I suddenly woke
up after hearing the unnerving creaking
sound that the stilts were making. It sounded like a violin
playing the wrong
note at a very high
pitch. Thinking that the hut was about to collapse, I started
panicking and was about to jump out of the hut. But I lifted
my head only to see Jerry smiling and
gesturing me to come out. He signaled me to follow him. He wasn’t talking to me as it was midnight and everyone in the village was fast asleep. I wouldn’t have been able to see anything but the perfect circle that was the full bright white moon that shed light on the pathway. When we had finally reached
our destination, I looked up and
around and
recognized this place. I was in the in
the drum tower in
the exact same place where I had
attempted to make
the table. When I realized what he was doing a smile slowly grew on my face from ear to ear. He was going to teach
me how to make a Dong style table before I leave. He showed me the technique of how to cut the table, then
how to polish it and
do the same for the four legs. Jerry explained to me that tables in this village are what bring
everyone together. It was what made them
a family. He told me that when people are sitting at a round
table they are not doing their own
thing they are talking and laughing. Jerry led me through
all the steps. It was like riding a bike for the first time. It is deceptively simple but with proper guidance you can
master it as fast as you can snap your fingers. As he led me through the carpentry, his hands were touching mine and smoothly guiding them
through the table then he let go and
let me continue. We did this for the entire table. Working
under the moonlight, it felt as if the full bright moon shone its light upon us and
bonded us together. We were complete opposites like Ying
and Yang but we bonded together to create something
beautiful. I looked at the small table with
pride. I could not thank Jerry enough. He acted as if it wasn’t a big deal. However, he yawned
and still smiled back at me.
The intense heat
of the morning sun
beat down on my skin as trees provided little shade as I exited the village and prepared to cross the bridge. Jerry, his family and
the rest of the village waved
goodbye as I started
my dance across the creaky, old wooden
bridge. However, half way through my dance the bird’s song and the quiet hum of the wind, the rustle of the Fir’s trees leaves was calling me back. Yearning for me to come and listen to their symphony. I was struggling to say goodbye. It was as if there was a magnet in the village attracting me and
pulling me back. Even though I had
only been there for one night, it felt as if I had met family members there
because that is what they treated me as. Family. Even though, it was unintentional and hard to get here, it was worth it. I was about to continue on
but I felt a light tap
on my back and
turned around to see Jerry with the same warm and kind smile on his face. He pulled me in and
hugged me and just before I could say anything he handed
me something. It was slightly poky, malleable and there was a lot of it. He had handed me a mark, a memento of my time here. I knew
exactly where I was going to put this. I would put it beside my table at home to remind me of my friendship with him. It was a mark that would remind me of how we bonded
together over the
creation of a simple table. He once again
smiled but with a hint of sadness knowing that I had
to leave.
“You must go on
your way now”. I smiled and felt tears welling up in my eyes. I looked back one last time then
continued on with
my foxtrot over the wooden bridge.
A creaky old wooden bridge that was the main
entrance and exit of the village.
n
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“WIND-RAIN BRIDGE” IN A DONG VILLAGE
THESE BRIDGES
ARE COMMONLY
USED FOR EVERY-
DAY PEDES-TRIAN
TRASNPOR-TATION
IN A TRADI-TIONAL
DONG VILLAGE
MODERN VS. TRADITIONALTRADITIONAL RIVER BOATS &
WATER TRAVEL - WIDELY COMMON BEFORE MODERN TRANSPORT CAME INTO USE
DONG��������� ���������
KAZAKH
DONGS primarily live in the People’s Republic of China. Has total pollution of 2,960,293 people.
KAZAKHS primarily live in the People’s Republic of China, Russia, Kazakhstan, and Mongolia. Has total population of 17,000,000.
Most people of the Dong minority are traditionally polytheistic (even in modern day) with elements of animism.
In modern day, after the USSR collapse, most people of Kazakh became unreligious, which is a consistency lasting to today.
Kazakhs are descendants of the Turkic tribes ‒ Argyns, Khazars, Qarluqs; and of the Kipchaks and Cumans, and other tribes such as the Huns.
Modern Dong People are descendants of the ancient Liao people who once occupied southern China. Legends say that other ancestors of the Dong migrated from the east.
The Dong culture is often most prominently recognized for its unique architectural patterns (one example being the “Wind-Rain Bridge”). The Dong people are also recognized for their special carpentry skills.
Important parts of Kazakh culture include their traditional music. Many Kazakhs are skilled in the performance of their cultural songs. A uniquely used instrument identified to the Kazakhs is the dombra, a plucked instrument with two strings.
.Beijing
• The Tibet region is located at 32 degrees North, 87 degrees East
• It is located southeast of Beijing, a flight to Tibet would take around 5 hours.
• This is a cold region with many mountains, which results in high altitudes.
• The Inner Mongolia region is located at at 44 degrees North, 133 degrees east
• Located north of Beijing. • very flat terrain, in some of the region, but some
mountainous areas
���
he everyday scene in the metropolis of downtown
Beijing, China is not a peaceful one. The buzz of cars, the rush
of commuters, an
endless stream of people exiting and
entering subway stations, shopping
malls, and office buildings. It was all one mammoth, endless crowd. As a travel writer, I simply taught myself to absorb all this, to filter the noise, and unearth
the meaningful bits in
between. That’s my job: to see the beauty in things, and to amplify them. In their own ways, even the crowds possess a kind
of beauty. Despite this, still, it was not until I decided to take a jaunt and go away for a bit that I found
my own peace. When I began
choosing where I would go, I thought about the things I don’t care much for in
this dense, urban
jungle. The heat, for
sure, was one. And on
top of the sweltering
35+ degree temperature, the air was often polluted. Not nice. The crowds, for another, I honestly couldn't care less for. Trying to wedge your way through a subway station during rush
hour is zero to impossible (without being trampled, that is). And the redundant everyday life wraps up
the count. I have no particular grudge against getting up, getting dressed, eating breakfast, brushing my teeth, and leaving for the office, but it all just becomes tediously monotonous after long
enough. As I pulled up
webpages on the region of Tibet, I knew
at once that I was onto something. It was a perfect choice for me. It is almost like a sanctuary. Mostly situated in
mountainous areas, the Tibetan terrain is pleasantly brisk. Attributes of their culture are strongly influenced due to this.
For example, the animals they herd and
crops they cultivate are tailored to the natural conditions. Therefore, the foods they eat are elegantly and uniquely different from what we may be accustomed to. The more I read, the more I fell in love with the place. I truly began to see its beauty before my eyes even left the computer screen. A few days later, I
arrived in Tibet just past midnight in a simple, travel efficient jet. After debarking
the small, seven-seated plane, I found
myself on a grassy plain clear for miles around. As I stood
there, basked in the dazzling shine of the scintillating moon and
the diaphanous glow
of the stars, it felt as if I were the sole human
on earth. After a few
minutes of being
wrapped up in my own
moment, I was picked
up and driven to a local village on a rickety and somewhat ancient pickup truck. I’ll have to admit that
SANCTUARY
By MaxWhy Is Tibet Important?
T
riding through the rocky mountain roads was not the most fun
thing to be doing on
the back of a car that felt suspiciously like it had no break. Plus, I tend to get quite carsick. Nevertheless, it was all worth it. When we finally
arrived at the village, it was early day. The sun was starting to rise, and my face felt like it had gone a light shade of green from
the truck ride.. But then, a pure, delicately beautiful breeze blew
by, something like the way snowflakes would
on a peaceful winter’s eve. I breathed it in
and closed my eyes, once again wrapped
up in the moment. My mind was clear of everything. And for the first time in a long
while, I was calm. More than that, content. It was one of those moments when
you simple didn’t need
a reason to want to love everything in the world. As I unloaded my
only backpack from
the back of the truck, a kind local man
named Chodak greeted me. He was clad in the classic colorful “chuba” robes of traditional Tibetan
dress. In his halting, yet strangely beautiful English, he told me he was going to be my guide. Smiling, he led
me down the streets of his village, giving
quick gestures here and there. The buildings were stacked tightly together, one upon
the other, like a queue of dominoes frozen in
time. These buildings all ran down by the sides of busy, stone-paved roads. Shops, homes, and
restaurants alike began to bustle with a hum of morning life; men and women going
to breakfast, children
playing in the streets, shops beginning to open up their doors. Mouth watering scents came flowing in as Chodak and I neared a lot of small restaurants. “Meat shop! Very nice yak.” or “Tibetan cheese, you should try!” he would say. He led me inside one of the
restaurants, a small cozy eatery. “Hungry?” he
asked me. “Here you
can eat breakfast.” I nodded in
thanks. “Yeah, I could
use a bite.” I told him. Chodak smiled
and said something in
Tibetan to a man in
the back. He looked
back at me. “Food be here soon.” A couple of
minutes later, I was served a pancake-like dish I was told is called “balep korkun”. This is easy to make and commonly eaten
in Tibet due to its barley-based recipe. Chodak told me early on that barley is the most important staple food in the region, because most areas are too high up to grow crops like rice. My “balep
korkun” was served
with a bowl of rich
spicy stew called “de - thuk”. The “de - thuk” had pieces of meat that are important to keeping up energy. All of this was accompanied by a cup
of warm, buttery, salty tea. The locals call this
“ja srub ma”, or simply “butter tea”. Chodak told me
the tea is important because it contains butter, and butter provides a lot of energy, like the stew. This is essential for high-altitude regions like Tibet. Because the minority is settled
high up in the mountains, the air and
conditions will be harsher, and energy-providing high calorie meals help provide higher sustainability for the human body. After thoroughly
getting to know my meal, I proceeded to eat all of it, slowly savoring every delicious bite. When I had
completed my breakfast, Chodak and
I thanked the shopkeepers and
politely exited. We continued walked
through the main
streets of the village together. I took pictures of the amazing sights, while he cheerily narrated
the elegant scenery. Finally, we
reached a quieter part
of the village. As I was looking around, taking
snapshots, Chodak said, “Look down in
this way!” He gestured
downwards toward
something I could not quite lay my eyes on. I followed him closer to where he was pointing.
“I cannot describe the feeling that washed over me when I saw it. A sheer and beautiful mass of dark, lush green, the whole of the Tibetan plains snugly settled in at the base of the mountains, a sight to remember forever.”And that wasn’t even
the best part. Chodak excitedly pointed to something moving
through the grass. “Look here!” he exclaimed. Whatever it
was, it seemed like nothing but a tiny, black speck. But its power and strength
was evident in the way it adroitly drove and
bolted thorough the grass like a striking
tempest. When I locked my eyes on it, I followed its movement. Then, I immediately saw the others just like it. Suddenly, it was as if they were everywhere. From a distance,
they looked like cows peacefully grazing
amongst the clear green plains. But then
I remembered. We were high up in the mountains. These were no cows. These were the only cattle that could survive the conditions of a mountainous habitat. These were none other than the formidable yaks. Chodak went on
to tell me how these yaks center many elements in the lives of Tibetans. Because of their more than
plentiful population in
the region, the people were able to fashion
them to many uses, such as food, clothing,
and recreational decorations. Fish and chips.
You ever try that? Hopefully, you have. If not, you are so missing out. Now, picture the crispiest, freshest batch of fish
and chips you have ever had. Got it? Now, replace the fish with
yak meat. Oh, I'm
sorry. Forgot to give you a heads up. That's right. Fried yak and
chips is a common, popular dish in
Tibetan culture. Sound
strange? It should. It is simply so elegantly unique. And delicious. Later, I would be offered to try some in
the same restaurant where I enjoyed my breakfast. Other uses for
these mighty creatures include fashioning
clothes (including their traditional “chubas”) out of their hides. Their hides are also used to make rugs, which are a big part of their culture. More often to hang on walls or something of the like than to keep
people warm or to make floors
comfortable, Chodak told me that blankets are widely used as decorations in Tibet. His own home (which I would visit later) had
some very beautiful works of the tapestry. After about 50
photos, and sufficient time to just soak in
the utter beauty, Chodak and I began to walk back towards the main village. When we got back, the streets were once again busy with people getting to and from their meals. It was lunchtime already! I had not realized
were gone for so long. But as always, time passes the fastest in
the most beautiful moments. Chodak motioned
for me to join him at a table in one of the restaurants. I, however, was not so hungry. I told him no thanks, and that I was going to go take a walk, just wander for a while in the village. Chodak nodded, and
told me he would wait for me there. I took my camera,
and set off on the
road. I meandered
through the village, taking pictures all the while. On that walk, I saw some extraordinary sights. In one shop, beautiful tapestry was hung on
the walls, with elegant traditional Tibetan text inscribed on them. Another shop
sold only Tibetan
scarves the shopkeeper said were called “khatas”. Chodak would later explain to me what they were. He told me that Khatas are common gifts in
Tibetan culture, and it symbolizes purity. Because of this symbolic meaning, a dirty, or “impure”, khata is impolite to own, and rude to give as a gift. In a small square,
I watched a group of monks chanting an
enticing rhythmic ritual in a language I don’t understand. Chodak, once again, would be the one to later explain to me that monks often
perform complex religious music in
collective groups as worship. After they
finished their song, I began to walk back to where Chodak was
waiting for me. By the time I got back, it was later in the afternoon. “Good, good.. I thought maybe you
get lost!” exclaimed
Chodak when he saw
me. “No, I didn’t get
lost” I assured him. “I just saw so many
beautiful things in the village.” I went on to tell him all that I encountered. Chodak explained
to me all the bits in
what I saw that I did
not understand. Afterwards, he said to me, “Come, I want to show you my home.” He led me back
out into the street, and we walked
together until we reached one of the doorways further
down the buildings. Chodak opened the door and welcomed
me to enter. It was a small, but warm and
homey place. In his living area,
there were some chairs and a shrine, with a gold Buddha statue, some lit candles, incense, and
a picture of what I assumed was his family. “Is this your
family?” I asked him. Chodak looked
over. “Ah, yes.” he replied. “They are out in the fields now, will be back tomorrow.” I looked over to
his walls, which were covered in the rugs I mentioned earlier. They were so intricately beautiful. Tibetan text covered
the front, while small, delicate designs lined
the borders. “These are so
beautiful.” I told
Chodak. “The rugs? Yes, they are quite nice.” “Did you make
them?” I asked. “No,” he replied. “They were first my grandfather’s,
The square in which the Tibetan men chanted in
musical prayer.
then my father’s, now
mine. A lot of history.” “Yeah, a lot.” I
whispered to myself in
awe. A while later, the
sky began to get dark. “Chodak,” I said.
“My plane is coming
again to pick me up
again early tomorrow
morning. I might want to get some rest.” “Yes, sure.”
Chodak said. “Sleep
anywhere comfortable.” I found a thick
rug close to a window, and laid down, thinking about the short, but amazing
day I had spent with
Chodak and this different world. As the sky became darker, so did my mind. Before I knew it, I drifted off to sleep. The next
morning, Chodak awakened me with a big pot of rich stew
for breakfast. “For before you go.” he said. “Eat this. Is very good for energy.” He and I sat together and
finished the stew. I enjoyed every last bit of the spice and the yak meat. When we both finished, I thanked Chodak for
everything he did for me in the past day. “My pleasure to
meet you,” he replied. “You are good man.” I smiled at him,
and said, “I’m going to miss here a lot. It’s only been a day, but still, this is so much
better than where I come from.” Chodak smiled
back at me with his wisdom. He led me
outside, where that ancient pickup truck was once again
waiting for me. I shook his hand and
thanked him one last
“Prayer wheels” that Tibetans use as a part of their religious culture.
time. I packed my backpack and myself onto the truck, and
the driver started that rickety old engine. As we began to
drive away, I looked
out the window, back at the village, where the beauty lives. I waved one last time at Chodak and he did the same. I couldn’t quite see his face, but I was almost sure there was a wise old smile on it, like there always was. As we drove out
of view, I put my arm
back into the truck, and thought about the past day I spend there in Tibet. As a travel writer, I am taught to filter the noise, and
unearth the meaningful bits in
between. That’s my job: to see the beauty in things, and to amplify them. With Tibet, there
was no need. Every bit was an individual beauty in its own
right. I was deeply saddened to leave, and my eyes began to get misty. I knew I had
no reason cry. There was no need for sadness that it was
over, just happiness and gratitude that it happened. Gratitude for what its beauty has taught me, gratitude for having met Chodak, and
happiness for having
gotten to know this elegant culture. The everyday
scene I am returning
to in the metropolis of downtown Beijing, China is definitely not a peaceful one.
“Tibet, however, was a whole other world.”
Colorful Tibetan flags strung above the stunning scenery.
��������
Mongolia is a landlocked region located in the eastern-central part of Asia, surrounded by mainland China (to its east, south, and west), and Russia (in the north). Much of Mongolian borders and boundaries have fluctuated over time due to its prior rule by nomadic cultures and aggressive war factions.
The Mongolian capital city is Ulaanbaatar, which is also the region’s largest city, and it houses up to 45% of Mongolia’s population. Much of the population is densely located in cities due to the southern and northern/western regions being taken up by the Gobi Desert and mountain ranges, respectively.
My daily
life in the Big Apple consists of be awoken
by tired work commuters, that always seem to be angry, based on how
much they honk at one another in their cars. After this rude awakening, I usually proceed to take a stroll around the corner, to my local Starbucks, where I get my daily dose of coffee, then my ride to work in a New York City corner stone, a taxi. My job as a travel writer is truly a blessing, but it can be a burden. My days consist of researching
locations, and then
planning trips that I could take to write my next feature article. After my workday, I
journey back home to my couch, where I plop down and watch
some good old
basketball.
I have been
blessed with a life that I wouldn’t trade for anything; however, my life does lack one thing, pure, uninfluenced by money, entertainment. There are not many places in the world
today where you can
find this; however, there is one competition that takes place in Northern
China, in the Inner Mongolian Province
that has stayed true to its roots through
centuries. This unique event is, the Mongolian Horse races.
Horse racing, a sport that I had
associated with rich
businessmen and
gamblers, is not exactly what I had
expected out of a minority in China. When I began
researching which
minority would be most worth my time to visit. I read across the line, “Horse racing has major cultural
The Mongolian
Derby
My homestay’s beautiful grass fields
significance to the Mongolian people”, and I put my glasses on and contemplated
over that sentence over and over again. After stumbling upon
this line, I couldn’t take my mind of this idea of these horses galloping across the giant, green fields. I booked my trip to one of the most breathtaking places in
China as soon as I got the chance.
Almost exactly a
month later after booking my trip, I touched down in Inner Mongolia. I was picked up in what I assumed to be a rare car in this community. I would be staying
with this man for the next day. On the car ride back we rode in
almost complete silence, as I stared out at the open green sea off grass fields. I felt as if someone had
placed me in the
former Microsoft default background.
After the long
ride, I popped right out of his car, closed
my eyes and let the soothing wind blow
over me, wiping me of all of my worries and
concerns. After a second of this peace, I stared out at the man’s property, which
happened another ocean of grass, before we strode towards the man’s home. The houses that the Mongolian people live in are called known to the Western world as yurts, however; the Mongolian people know them as gers. gers, are essentially tents with that are essentially tents, that are held up by a wooden structure. The Mongolian people choose to live in these structures, because it can sustain the climate of Northern China, and
the Mongolian people are nomadic, so
having tent like structures makes it very easy for them to move place to place. I took a second to stop
and stare at the amazingly durable houses that were also breathtakingly beautiful.
The Mongolian
people are known to be incredibly kind, polite people and my homestay did not break this stereotype. After a long
conversion filled with
laughter and drinking
of the surprisingly delicious, self produced Mongolian
milk wine that my homestay gave me, I asked the my amazingly generous,
“Son, what do you think I do with the beautiful pasture that you see?”
friendly home stay, “What do you do for a living?” Despite asking this question in
a curious manner, I knew that there were only a few legitimate possibilities, because of what the Mongolian
life-style took to live. They need their food, their shelter, or other furniture or clothing
and accessories. Therefore, the only possibilities were stockbreeder, handicraft producer, or other industrial producer.
The man warmly
responded with a smile stretching ear to ear, “Son, what do you
think I do with the beautiful pasture that you see?”
After our
conversation, the man
served me a dairy product called Airag. Because of my adventurous nature, I instructed the man not to inform me what animal this drink had
come from. The liquid, pungent yet delicious, turned out to be the milk of a horse. The profusion
of grasslands in the Inner Mongolian it region creates a dream
like scenario for raising sheep, goats, and horses. For generations, Mongolian people in
China have used these grasslands to raise sheep, to supply them
with dairy and meat, two of the most important foods in
Mongolia.
After our
distinctively Mongolian
meal with scrumptious food, it was time to go see the event had
came to see: the Mongolian horse racing. The beautiful, open fields not only served as a perfect location for raising
cattle, but also a prime center for one of the most famous forms of entertainment in the
Mongolian culture, their horse races. Many have described it as more intriguing and
interesting, than the most famous horse race in the world, the Kentucky Derby. These horse races are over twenty-five kilometers long, all the jockeys being
children; as it is a right of passage in the Mongolian culture.
Exchanging looks
of nervousness, the racers got in to starting position, preparing to start the race. The horses all seemed to be surprisingly healthy, proving how serious the race was. As the racers were getting set to start, you could feel the intensity building
up higher and higher as if we were anticipating, the NBA
Finals. The crowd
gradually got quieter, as we inched closer to race time, until there was complete silence.
A wise looking
Mongolian man, yelled
to signal the start of the race.
I could’ve been
placed in the Super Bowl stadium and I would feel the same intensity, if not more, than I felt watching
these Mongolian horse races. The hundreds of horses and their jockeys surged
forward, the horse’s hooves thundering
across the plains. Soon the soothing
green of the grass, had transformed into a sea of brown horses magnificent coats. My homestay and I drove alongside the racers in
his car and the intensity did not drop
one bit. Racers were yelling harsh sounding
words at each other, which my homestay translated to me as, “You’re garbage you’ll never win”. This was a true sign of utter competitiveness. There was no prize
money or sponsorship
deal for the winning
racer, but these young
jockeys participated
for the pure pride, of winning the horse race. After a long, passionate race, one boy and his Mongolian
Mustang claimed
victory. Beaming with
joy, the boy pumped
his fists with joy, as if he had just won the lottery. This is one of the last true competitions going on
in the world today.
Departing from
the beautiful region
was not easy on me. I miss the wind
whispering in my ears; instead I have the noise of the city outside my apartment window. I miss the yurt, the coziness and
the feeling of comfort; which I may call home, but will never really earn that title. I miss the dairy heavy meals that I ate; instead I will go back to my caffeine heavy Starbucks runs. But above all, I miss
A view of my homestay’s village
the thunder of the horses’ feet, the grass ocean being flooded
and turned into a brown sea of horses, and the true spirit of competitiveness.
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Citations
Hike. Talk. Laugh.
Take the trip you deserve.