Also inside the park was a Buddhist temple complex. We paid an inflated foreigner price ($2 instead of $1) and started our climb up the mountain. It should really go without saying that the temple was on a mountain. The path was clear and easy, and marked by scores of Buddhist teachings on signs along the way. Roughly halfway up there were prayer wheels and then additional signs started, 150 thoughts on the nature of enlightenment and how to reach it. This path led to a stairway with 8 black steps and 108 white steps (the symbolism of which I've forgotten) leading up to the temple doors. This number was convenient for me as it was the exact number of times that a nearby sign told me to repeat a mantra. At the top I marveled at the view and meditated in the temple while a monk was teaching a group of children, easily ignoring the tourists. After the pensive walk it was very easy to meditate, and I found the whole experience very fulfilling.
Our guide took us to a river for our next stop, the Terelj where the park takes its name. It reminded me strongly of scenery in northern California, with a wide, cold river cutting through stony banks and forests. There weren't too many tourists around -hardly any people at all, actually- and so Auberon and I walked around as our guide kept up behind us. One thing that sadly stuck out was the trash. Heaps and heaps of it, some clearly measuring years' worth and others hinting at a picnic recently concluded. It didn't seem like anyone was coming by to straighten up anytime soon. On the bright side, the water remained very clear and the trash seemed confined to the banks, several yards away from the river's edge. We took pictures and soon walked off.
On the way back we stopped at a large gravel mound with a sort of pole erected on top, draped with scraps of blue cloth. This was a traditional Mongolian shrine, predating Buddhism in the country. It was used by shamans to communicate with the heavens, and in their absence, ordinary people could make contributions. The taller the rock pile the better, so we found some spare stones along the road and walked slowly around the shrine three times in order to bring good fortune on our travels. As we left we heard another car honk three times - the symbol of respect for people too busy to contribute to the shrine.
Back in the city we found a Korean restaurant and reflected on the day after Auberon managed to select a dish that the restaurant wasn't out of. We had little else to see in the city, having discovered through vigorous wandering that it was actually quite small. I wanted to find some more socks, so we resolved to make the next day a shopping day.
Actually it was another wandering day, but we did chance upon a magnificent street market. This was apparently where all the people were. It was a densely packed market the likes of which we hadn't seen even in Vietnam, for it sprawled out on all sides of a dedicated covered area and had hundreds of stalls selling most everything you could imagine. I say most everything because Mongolia was sadly devoid of the easy access to street food that we'd gotten used to over the last month. Only one little kebab stand offered hot food, and nobody was eager to try it. But the market perfectly satisfied that desire for a bit more chaos and unpredictability. I overpaid handsomely for some beads and got a pair of Mongolian socks (they say "Mongol" in traditional script) for a song. I got some red and yellow Chinese socks in China and I have a vague goal to get socks representing each country as I continue. Other than that I'm really not one for souvenirs, though I've been carrying around a wonderful calligraphy scroll I was gifted in Vietnam.
Our train would depart late the following evening, and we were unable to store our bags in the hostel. So we resolved not to walk overmuch the next day, and set out for the national library. After brief confusion about whether we were allowed in, we passed some enormous and beautiful calligraphy and sat down in a silent reading room. Auberon switched between his Kindle and a book on ethics, and I updated my journal and nearly finished a book on Uzbekistan. It was very peaceful and the students took no mind of the out-of-place tourists. After a few hours we found another empty yet tasty restaurant, then after we had overstayed our welcome by some time we again set off in the direction of the train station. There I read every single issue present of the English-language government magazine, and increased my general knowledge of Mongolia by about a thousandfold. Did you know that there are 25,000 Mongolians living in the United States, and slightly more than that in South Korea? How about the fact that the Indonesian government recently removed visa restrictions for Mongolians in order to boost tourism? Or that child labor laws are cracking down on the tradition of using children as jockeys during the Naadam festival races?
When the train arrived I was essentially an expert. We collected our bags, hoped that it was the right train, and climbed on for our ride to the north.
Pictured: two things most people would not expect in Ulaanbaatar.
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