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artifacts-and-arthropods · 1 year ago

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Stone Turtle of Karakorum, Mongolia, c. 1235-1260 CE: this statue is one of the only surviving features of Karakorum, which was once the capital city of the Mongol Empire

The statue is decorated with a ceremonial scarf known as a khadag (or khata), which is part of a Buddhist custom that is also found in Tibet, Nepal, and Bhutan. The scarves are often left atop shrines and sacred artifacts as a way to express respect and/or reverence. In Mongolia, this tradition also contains elements of Tengrism/shamanism.

The city of Karakorum was originally established by Genghis Khan in 1220 CE, when it was used as a base for the Mongol invasion of China. It then became the capital of the Mongol Empire in 1235 CE, and quickly developed into a thriving center for trade/cultural exchange between the Eastern and Western worlds.

The city attracted merchants of many different nationalities and faiths, and Medieval sources note that the city displayed an unusual degree of diversity and religious tolerance. It contained 12 different temples devoted to pagan and/or shamanistic traditions, two mosques, one church, and at least one Buddhist temple.

As this article explains:

The city might have been compact, but it was cosmopolitan, with residents including Mongols, Steppe tribes, Han Chinese, Persians, Armenians, and captives from Europe who included a master goldsmith from Paris named William Buchier, a woman from Metz, one Paquette, and an Englishman known only as Basil. There were, too, scribes and translators from diverse Asian nations to work in the bureaucracy, and official representatives from various foreign courts such as the Sultanates of Rum and India.

This diversity was reflected in the various religions practised there and, in time, the construction of many fine stone buildings by followers of Taoism, Buddhism, Islam, and Christianity.

The prosperous days of Karakorum were very short-lived, however. The Mongol capital was moved to Xanadu in 1263, and then to Khanbaliq (modern-day Beijing) in 1267, under the leadership of Kublai Khan; Karakorum lost most of its power, authority, and leadership in the process. Without the resources and support that it had previously received from the leaders of the Mongol Empire, the city was left in a very vulnerable position. The residents of Karakorum began leaving the site in large numbers, until the city had eventually become almost entirely abandoned.

There were a few scattered attempts to revive the city in the years that followed, but any hope of restoring Karakorum to its former glory was then finally shattered in 1380, when the entire city was razed to the ground by Ming Dynasty troops.

The Erdene Zuu Monastery was later built near the site where Karakorum once stood, and pieces of the ruins were taken to be used as building materials during the construction of the monastery. The Erdene Zuu Monastery is also believed to be the oldest surviving Buddhist monastery in Mongolia.

There is very little left of the ruined city today, and this statue is one of the few remaining features that can still be seen at the site. It originally formed the base of an inscribed stele, but the pillar section was somehow lost/destroyed, leaving nothing but the base (which may be a depiction of the mythological dragon-turtle, Bixi, from Chinese mythology).

This statue and the site in general always kinda remind me of the Ozymandias poem (the version by Horace Smith, not the one by Percy Bysshe Shelley):

In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,

stands a gigantic leg

which far off throws the only shadow

that the desert knows.

"I am great OZYMANDIAS," saith the stone,

"the King of Kings; this mighty city shows

the wonders of my hand."

The city's gone —

naught but the leg remaining

to disclose the site

of this forgotten Babylon.

We wonder —

and some Hunter may express wonder like ours,

when thro' the wilderness where London stood,

holding the wolf in chace,

he meets some fragment huge

and stops to guess

what powerful but unrecorded race

once dwelt in that annihilated place

Sources & More Info:

University of Washington: Karakorum, Capital of the Mongol Empire

Encyclopedia Britannica: Entry for Karakorum

World History: Karakorum

#archaeology #history #anthropology #artifact #ancient history #mongol empire #mongolia #karakorum #middle ages #ancient ruins #art #turtle #bixi #ozymandias #poetry #mythology #genghis khan

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memorylang · 8 months ago

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By Mongolia's Ancient Capital | #65 | November 2022

I began Thursday, Nov. 1O, 2O22 with the Mongolian language exam for which I had been preparing for so long. And with its conclusion, I’d officially completed my reeducation to fully resume service as an evacuated Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. Having finished the test, I walked swiftly back from near the Peace Mall to my apartment. I then grabbed my heavy Peace Corps sleeping back with my backpack and hopped in the van with my counterpart’s family.

Road to Өвөрхангай /Övörhangai/

We rode out of Ulaanbaatar (UB) on the main road east. Along the way, I spotted above the traffic a pedestrian bridge labeled “Хархорин маркет,” /Harhorin Market/. With horseback travelers' statues across the top, the market presumably took the name of the historic place to which we were heading. Hours in traffic continued.

As we emerged from the congested urban sides of UB, our view transitioned to our long road and snow-powdered mountains to our sides. I remembered these sights from evacuation 2020. Blizzard conditions at that time made the terrain look less forgiving though than this.

As the husband of my coworker drove I remembered what M30 Eric had commented, that Mongolians must be the best drivers in the world. My counterpart’s hubby would kindly flicker his high and low beams before passing someone. Since this was one of those vehicles with the driver side in the right-hand seat instead of the left, we had to creep awfully far into the left lane to check whether we could pass. Still, I hadn't felt worried. Maybe life with my host family back in Nomgon took that fear from me.

I felt pleasantly surprised that our entire route from Mongolia's current capital to its old one was on paved roads, often with painted lines between the right and left sides of the road. That was a change from the more torn-up roads I recalled from before. It’s possible these roads were paved before the pandemic, though. It’s not like I’d been this way before.

My counterpart had also handed me the most interesting kimbap I’d seen. It was triangular-shaped, with the seaweed somehow wrapped in separate plastic from the rice part. I had to do some fumbling to figure out the contraption. I spilled a few grains doing so. I was more used to those kimbaps I used to buy in UB that were just like uncut sushi rolls, wrapped in cling-on plastic.

Throughout the ride down, my counterpart’s youngest son would ask me a myriad of questions. While it was typical fare for a 7-year-old, I felt surprised by the general fluency with which he spoke. It was very much the kind of language used by popular YouTubers, though. I told him not to say bad words, which his mom backed me up on too. Evidently, he was fond of some man named “Mr. Beast.”

My counterpart mentioned that her son needed to work on his Mongolian, though. He reminded me of the child I met a few days earlier while rehearsing for my Mongolian test. After quite a few more questions, my counterpart asked if I was tired. She had her boy shush, I let him ask one more question, then I took a nap.

Töv Province, There in Lun

I reawoke at dusk about half an hour later. The world now had a greyish look by 5:30 p.m. My counterpart asked if I was hungry, to which I replied I could eat but wasn't starving. We were passing through Лун /Lun/, of the central Төв /Töv/ province, crossing the Туул гол /toel golsh/ (Tuul River). Window frost mitigated photos. Still, this was the first new province I’d seen since 2019.

We stopped at a very nice-looking restaurant. Its outside listed the name “Урьхан” /Uirhan/. My main counterpart commented about how there's one of these restaurants on the way from UB to Дархан /Darhan/ or Эрдэнэт /Erdent/, too. If there was, I didn't remember it looking this fancy. Although, I did remember such stopping places along the way.

Inside the restaurant, I admired pictures on the wall of other scenic locations across Mongolia. I recalled hearing about a famous crater in Bulgan that I never had the chance to see, when the Coronavirus struck China. I read the landmarks’ signs with little difficulty and wondered if elementary readers were the ads’ intended audience. It was probably just good writing, though. That made them accessible.

While at the restaurant, an older, gruffer, darker skinned fellow approached me and my counterpart’s youngest son while we sat at the wide wooden table. The fellow asked something about хоёулаа /the two of us/, to which I replied, “өө, би Америкаас ирсэн,” in my usual foreign cadence. I got those wide eyes of wonder that felt familiar to me outside of UB. Perhaps this man hadn’t seen someone from outside Mongolia before. I’d missed that feeling.

After eating, we hopped back in the car. Night had fallen with still a long way to go. About an hour back on the road, “Эрдэнэсант сум. It belongs to Төв Province,” my counterpart added. Our journey west continued. Before long, we crossed the border to Өвөрхангай /Övörhangai/.

Хархорин /Harhorin/

Arriving in Хархорин /Harhorin/ at 9:30 (21:30) that night reminded me of an experience in the Булган /Bulgan/ province with my first counterpart back in August 2OI9. We had food in the local place of friends known to my counterpart though not to me.

Still, then and now I enjoyed lovely food in classic Mongolian style. In this case, we stayed the night, too. Instead of three glasses of vodka following the meal, we had Scotch whiskey instead. Honestly, I preferred whiskey's taste to vodka's.

The folks’ purplish magenta robe for going outside in the cold reminded me of the navy blue one I wore at my host family's place for trips outside during early mornings and nights during summer 2OI9 too.

During Friday morning, we also explored the сум /so-m/ some. I remembered how an M29 who taught me during my In-Service Training had served in this very place. I wondered whether anyone I met knew her.

Meat for the Winter, Friday

We then drove out from the soum center to some gers for the гаргах /gargah/ collection of winter meat. I witnessed them bringing out a cow from the pen, and my counterpart participated in a process of what seemed to be blessing its hooves and head with milk. Then began the sadder but necessary process of giving our bovine friend a sound bop on its head so that it would not be conscious for the next part. (You may want to skip ahead if you're not into the sadder though necessary parts.)

The cow collapsed, and others began to help to secure it as the bleeding began. It seemed like a humane way to go. The cow’s dismayed murmur could be heard as it regained consciousness at times, but the men brought it back to sleep as often as needed.

As the process progressed, the men began to reach inside the animal's body to collect innards to place in designated containers. They kept the handfuls of blood relatively contained, for they had plenty of experience with the work. All things had a purpose. Then came the knives out for skinning.

As skinning continued, I reflected on how I could have died on the mountain back at Glacier National Park this summer but didn't. It was when my friend Victor and I were hiking the Grinnell Glacier Trail when the weather got bad. We were right around the glacier at the trail’s end as lighting appeared around us. We’d rushed into the trees as rain and hail came thundering down. We were drenched beneath the branches waiting for the worst to pass. Seeing the men in the snow skin the cow reminded me of the feeling of how fleeting life could be. Still, God saved me then, and here I was now.

Later, I wrote to some folks with whom I'd been in touch that not only had I witnessed the cow гаргах, but I also saw the process for two sheep. The sheep seemed more scared than the cow, but but I could empathize that anyone could feel scared knowing one's end had come.

I had looked up “гаргах” in my dictionary. I felt pleased to see its definitions contain meanings such as “going forth.” It seemed like a nicer way to describe the process. I could see why some Americans draw comparisons between Mongol and indigenous practices associated with the land and respect.

On another countryside note, I finally figured out how to make that /shoo-kuh/ sound I'd heard from as long before as from my host dad back in Номгон /Nomgon/! I'd imitated the sound from one of the little kids who was surely no older than 4 years old. It’s something people would tend to say when doing an action.

Dinner

Yay, бууз /buuz/! I mentioned on my LPI (Language Proficiency Interview) how I hadn't had бууз since Цагаан сар /Tsagaan Sar/, back in 2O2O. I’d missed Mongols’ traditional steamed meat dumplings. For dinner, we were having бууз.

At dinner, I also remembered what my counterpart had told me on a walk back toward our Department’s building, that wine is seen as a ladies' drink. Still, I preferred its taste to the large Tiger beer.

I tried to remember that rhyme I think I heard somewhere. “Wine before beer, you're in the clear. Beer before wine and you're fine,” I guess? That couldn't be right. Well, there was beer and wine at the same time, so I figured that's what I was working with, then.

My counterpart (CP) asked if I was tired, to which I replied I was just trying to figure out this game, муушиг /moe-shig/. The name sounded so familiar. I wondered whether I'd played it with my host family during PST summer or even with fellow M30 Peace Corps Volunteers at IST/PDM winter.

The Next Morning, Saturday

Saturday, November 12, 2O22, I awoke groggy hearing what sounded like a persistent wind mumbling outside beyond the pre-dawn dark blue of the windows. I felt what seemed like some cramps and a certain feeling that the dreaded time had come.

I sprung from my sleeping bag and crossed the living room to my backpack and items pile. As I crossed, I felt a little loopy, but I couldn't tell if this was being tired, hungover or maybe both.

A little melody, almost as though it could have been a children's rhyme looped in my head as I worked.

“Take only what you need, in your journey to the жорлон /jorhlon/.”

Amid the COVID-19 pandemic academic year of 2O2I to 2O22, I learned from a newfound Chinese Catholic friend in Reno about the Chinese music notation system. (Hopefully you can interpret my attempt.) Anyway, here is my approximation of the transcript:

Take5 | on-ly6 | what6 | you5 need6 |

in6 your5 | jour4-ney5 | to4 the3 | жор2-лон1.

Melody in my mind, I started by sliding on my socks since I didn't have to think about those. I emptied my trouser pockets then pulled those on along with my belt. I grabbed my дээл too, and without bothering to mess with its button, I slung that on. Then I crossed the little house to its other side, where my coat stretched across the top of the clothing stack. The whole ordeal took just about 15 minutes as I ventured into the dark cold for the necessary deed in the designated wooden zone.

As I typed about 2O minutes later, my stomach felt a little rumbly, so I lied back down. I would defeat this food-borne challenger, I asserted to myself.

I remembered the other half of that rhyme, “Beer before liquor, never been sicker.” I guess wine wasn't involved, then? Still, I recalled my alcohol awareness trainings that said not to mix different alcohols. Well, I guess I did that…

By half an hour later, round 2.

While I hesitated to consider the жорлон now my ol' friend, I at least decided that we had a working relationship, an understanding of each other.

This time my trip took only 1O minutes. This time as I crossed the yard, I felt delighted by the reddish-orange glow upon the mountains in the distance. One of those pretty black and white birds landed upon the fence with two little birds beside it, too.

At last, for the most part, my body felt corrected.

That Cold Morning

As I approach the house door, I try to open it and realize… I’d locked myself out.

Now this feels more like the Peace Corps for which I was trained!

I message my counterpart (CP).

I hear the wind, see my breath, feel my hands numbing, watch my nose dripping. At least the post-dawn glow of the sun looks pretty.

I begin to notice the frost on the bottom half of the door. I like how it patterns across the base.

Someone's gotta come out eventually, I remind myself.

I check the weather on my phone. It’s only -16°C.

I remember the bull from the day before and think, glad to be alive.

I consider how, safety-wise, a door only openable from the inside is actually quite wise.

15 minutes pass.

The sun rises. I try calling my CP.

I feel like since the sun's rising the wind has picked up. I get a little antsier and start wandering back and forth.

I poke the little nose drippings that had fallen on my jacket. Indeed, they had frozen.

I wonder whether to make a deal with God.

Then the mother emerges, surprised to see me.

This time when asked, “Дарсан уу?” my sheepish reply is, “Дарсан.”

Aftermath

I got inside to see the whole ordeal was about half an hour.

I checked the weather again and saw 3°F. I guessed that’s not very warm, after all. The mother started the fire and encouraged me to rub my hands together.

I felt as though here, it’s everyone versus the cold.

I warmed myself beside the fire for the next 2O minutes as the house began to come awake.

The mom offered me tea while I sat by the fire.

Round 3 occurred far later, well after my warming and donning of my second jacket, the цэнхэр өнгөтэй one. I felt better by this time.

When I was last in Mongolia, I had far greater fear about when the outhouse door would fling open that people would see me. Yet this time, while I still cared, I cared less. Part of it probably was because at that time, the outhouse door faced the house’s general direction, whereas this one faced away. Still, I feel like I just cared a lot less about it now than then. I wondered if perhaps this was because amid my two and a half years outside of Mongolia, whatever reservations I may have had unconsciously grew tinted with nostalgic longing.

My total 4O-minute morning adventure became the talk of breakfast, which amused all, including me! I could tell it was definitely about my story, for they related how I said, “Баярлалаа,” to the mom when she opened the door, then I'd beelined to the fire to warm up. I remembered my host family in Номгон cheerfully recounting too my antics. Though, even my papa back home would do the same at family reunions or when family friends visited. Family's indeed family!

My CP later advised me, “You can knock [on] the window.” I explained I didn't want to scare someone, to which we laughed. In hindsight this sounded silly versus freezing. Still, I felt like window-knocking in a U.S. American sense would be more akin to causing a scene.

I liked how my CP let people know I speak Mongolian when they wanted to ask me something. I responded briefly to a visiting relative’s question about whether this was my first time in Mongolia. It was my second time in Mongolia but first to spend in the countryside during winter and not summer.

Outside after breakfast, my CP taught me about, “Өвлийн салхи,” Kharhorin's cold wind from a mountain near. To this I thought, “Ah, my new foe has a name.”

My CP invited me back inside while she and the others finished business outside. Her oldest son helped carry inside the back-half portion of one of yesterday's sheep. I sat again by the stove as I continued typing up the weekend's adventures.

Historic

The rest of Saturday was nice, too. My CP introduced me to the inner walls of the famous Erdene Zuu Monastery. My CP’s grandfather had been a monk here. It felt so wide without many of its older buildings. Unfortunately we couldn’t enter the buildings, but the grounds were still amazing.

The monastery reminded me lightly of the one to which I had walked in Bulgan, November 2OI9. It also had a vibe of that Mata Nui Online Game. Immediately outside the monastery were more consumer-centric areas for tourists, I supposed.

We got to see another impressive sight. It commemorated multiple historic empires of Mongolia and its predecessors. This mound atop the mount, my CP explained, was the mountain. Behind it, the great river was the Орхон гол, the Orhon River. The monument before us was the Хааны хөшөө, the Khan's Monument. Beyond these were the Хангай /Hangai/ mountains, from which this province got its name. I learned from here for perhaps my first time with detail about the Turkic Empire.

We drove over to the museums too, but they were closed. I sure would have loved to see the Karakorum Museum. Its exterior reminded me of visitors centers to U.S. National Parks. Nonetheless, the weekend excursion felt like a rad cultural practicum.

The Road Back

That afternoon, it was time to leave. While we were filling up at the gas station on our way out, I noticed on Pokémon GO that it was a Community Day. So I caught an adorable few Teddiursa, including some ‘shiny’ green ones. Then I evolved a purified one with the best stats into Ursaluna from that new premake, “Legends: Arceus.”

A considerable time along our journey, we stopped by a clump of sand dunes for photos. The sand was so soft. Apparently people bring camels up here for riding during the summer. Yet now it was cold. This reminded me of Death Valley National Park in the U.S. Yet, Death Valley gets popular when it gets cold (like when we went, November 8, 2O2I). I also don't recall people bringing camels to Death Valley.

Back in the car, my CP offered me some more snacks. I noticed the brand name Julie's again, which reminded me of the cosmetics saleswoman going to Korea, who helped me with my Mongolian the Sunday evening before. I also noticed from the packaging that the crackers came from Melaka, Malaysia, where I was in April, earlier in the year! I felt I should share the news with my Malaysian friends. Their foods have reached Mongolia.

As we continued east past 5 p.m., I enjoyed shadows from the sun cast far to our right, ahead of us, along the way. I faded in and out of sleep as the sun set. We returned to the same eatery where we dined the first time we came through, on Thursday evening. Though, now it was dark out.

Seeing so many cars on the road reminded me of those going from Vegas to Reno on weekends. Indeed, the population distribution of Nevada is similar to Mongolia, anyway: There is the megapolis, then there is everywhere else.

Battle Finale of Legend

When we returned to my apartment, I wanted to celebrate with a break. So I set up my CP’s telly and watched, “The Finals IV: “Partner,” Ash's battle finale against Leon in “Pokémon: Ultimate Journeys.” (It was English-subbed.) I’d been following the Masters Eight Tournament since before I’d returned to Mongolia. Indeed, I was even in Mongolia when Ash became champion for the first time of the Alola League, 2OI9.

Now, I felt so excited to see the returns of so many of Ash’s friends and Pokémon from around the world, throughout his past. And with that, our hero became the world champion, “The Very Best, Like No One Ever Was.” Well, so began Ash’s new journey and, being back in Mongolia, so began mine!

You can read more from me here at memoryLang.Tumblr.com :)

#Peace Corps #Mongolia #memoir #story #Catholic #God #memoryLang #USA #Karakorum #Kharkhorin #Asia #Pokemon #countryside #monastery #music #UB #culture shock #travel #winter #Ulaanbaatar

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