Genghis Cochrane meets Kublai Van

About three or four times a day, I have a conversation with a friend or a family member still wasting their life away in non-arctic weather on the topic of visiting me and observing my mastery of the nomadic lifestyle. They tell me that "Mongolia is too far to visit" and "Isn't it like -90 degrees up there.... KELVIN" and "Keith, it really just isn't feasible financially or time-wise for me to swing up to Ulaanbaatar for an afternoon." and of course "How the hell did you get this number?"

I ask all you non-believers to stand in shame and bask in the glory of Kublai Van, the latest and strongest member of my horde. Kublai was nice enough to take some time out of his tight schedule to see how my empire is holding up. After some reconnaissance work in China, he hopped on the train in Beijing and rode the quick 30 hours for a peaceful (bi) afternoon ride. He reported to me that the train is forced to change wheels at the border, due to the differing sizes of Chinese and Mongolian rails. This highly inconvenient delay ensures that Mongolia cannot be overrun by Han Chinese. What if Mongolia wants to overrun China you ask? That's the beauty of horses my friends. No wrenches required.

Speaking of horses, this weekend was spent in lovely Hustai National Park, where in 1992, 16 horses were reintroduced to the wild. These 16 got their freak on and now they are thriving again. And again. And again. They are just like regular horses except they have bigger heads and two extra chromosomes. Legend has it that these extra chromosomes give them the ability to say "Yay" as well as "Neigh" making them the only truly democratic horse society in existence. Only in Mongolia folks, only in Mongolia.

Day turned to night on the Mongolian Steppe and the sun disappeared like so many 1,000 Togrog bills at "Ger-lls, Ger-lls, Ger-lls", Ulaanbaatar's premiere strip club. We were lucky to be at Hustai park where the only thing wilder than the horses is the nightlife. We stayed up drinking bottle after bottle of Chinngis's finest vodka, playing guitar and singing Mongolian long songs into the wee hours of the night. A late night bathroom break revealed a crucial flaw in the Ger camp setup. Every Ger looks the same. Especially while wearing a shiny set of Vodka goggles. I must have wandered into three or four different Gers before finding the right one, making my fair share of friends, and fairer share of enemies along the way.

In true Mongolian fashion I was up and ready to go the following morning. For lunch we stopped at a real Nomadic Ger and were served the best noodle soup this side of the great wall. In Mongolia it is totally okay to stumble into someone's Ger expecting food, and if needed even a place to sleep. They would not have survived for this many years without this extreme hospitality, and it is one of two ancient traditions that still lives on today. The other tradition: marrying their cousins. This one is hard to avoid in a society with no last names. They're only human after all.

We left the countryside behind, and were back in the city by nightfall. Kublai and I shared some beers and some tears, and then I had to say farewell to my dear friend. He was tempted to stay but thinks that our revolution will have a better chance of success if we take it global sooner rather than later. He might be right. Either way it leaves me a lone wolf once again.

Friends!
Family!
Anonymous Internet Weirdos!

Take his torch and get out here immediately! Seriously, I could use the body heat. Also, the Mongolian Canteens are already producing Grease-cicles that are sure to last through February. If that's not motivation enough to get out here, I don't know what is.

Until next time,

Genghis