The Long Way Down, Up and Around: Day 4: Religious relics and domestic disputes

In Mongolia there are happy families, there are unhappy families, and there's everything in between.

On the whole, Mongolian culture is incredibly friendly and optimistic. But I witnessed my first questionable family encounter on day 4, after another pleasant morning with my half-dozen host sisters.

Maybe it begs the obvious question... how can you tell what's going on when you can't even understand the language? Totally fair, but sometimes body language, a screaming spouse, and some projectiles tell the story pretty well.

This ger was part of a family "compound", where extended family pitch five to six gers for a more serious kind of party.

What was the story? Well, I never figured it out. All I could tell is that the sister (I think...) of my host family's mom was more than a little angry at her husband. I'm pretty sure he didn't sleep that night in the ger... or on the couch downstairs. I think I saw a few attempts at apology, only to be rejected by the hysterical spouse.

And what about my family? Well, the host-mom and her daughter were awfully cold to me, and other travelers I ran into who stayed there mentioned the same. The host-family father was great, but he wasn't there very often. His sons were helpful and kind. I wonder what the dynamic was? My host-mom woman spent a lot of time in front of the mirror, trying on makeup or lotion that her relatives brought her from Korea, or China, while I sat there and read. Her pants seemed a little too snug to be comfortable around the ranch... I wonder if it was a case of city girl caught in the countryside? Was it his idea to do this to earn some extra money? Did she resent the Western tourists in her ger? Who knows, but it was certainly a different experience from the first two homestays.

Despite the awkwardness my host-father took me on a great ride up to an old Buddhist shrine. The setting is simply spectacular, and must have been intensely moving for generation of pilgrims. On top of a ridge, with a view for nearly a hundred miles in every direction, some ancestors of Kublai Khan built a series of six stupas. Their vaguely humanistic shape evoked the vision of religious, almost otherworldly sentries perched on a mountaintop, standing watch. It was an unexpectedly moving experience.

That night it was just me and the guys watching Mongolian wrestling on an old black and white TV. That night again, I slept in a ger with total strangers. I was getting used to being out in back of beyond, but I wished I could understand more. Another day in Central Mongolia.