Pilgrimage

Our pilgrimage to Khamarin Khiid almost didn’t happen.

On the morning before we were to leave, I got a call from the folks down there saying, “Oh, it’s very busy. There are no cars.” As in, no vans to get us from the train station to the ger camp, and none to get us to the monastery and sacred sites.

“Um, you know I’m coming with 25 people who all have bought their train tickets already, right?”

“Yes, we’re trying. Very sorry. The governor ordered some of our cars for a scientific group. We couldn’t say no.”

Ah, adventures in petty fiefdoms.

I figured I’d start at the top to work this out, and got in touch with Sharavdorj, who’s an MP from there as well as born and raised. Sometimes I’m smart. Within an hour he’d hooked us up. The next day we left breathing easy.

But the breathing easy part didn’t last too long. The deeper the train plunged into the Gobi, the more the wind kicked up. Then the car attendant had us close all the windows.

“Ikh shoroo orch baina.” Big dust storm coming.

She wasn’t exaggerating. First the gray-brown clouds billowed up from the horizon, then they obscured the sun, and then the train curved around and got swallowed by the sand.

The car windows revealed total, violent brown-out. City Mongols stared out in wonder and not a little fear. We could barely see the power poles that run parallel to the track. I recalled Altangerel’s response when I asked him if I could do another short cave retreat this spring.

“Not a good idea,” he said. “This time of year the storms come suddenly. If you’re caught outside, you can get really disoriented and lost. Also, the dust and sand can be so thick you can barely breathe. Either way you risk your life. Seriously.”

Noted. Retreat re-scheduled for October.

The storm was still raging as we pulled into Sainshand. No choice but to disembark and eat it. Literally. I swaddled my head in my upper robe, but still sand blew into every orifice. Passengers huddled on the lee side of whatever shelter they could find, including each other. Everyone looked so insignificant, fragile. It was a good lesson, a typical Gobi lesson.

Fortunately, our drivers were right on time. We enthusiastically piled in and zoomed off, racing the impending sunset. Even so, we temporarily lost the desert track a couple of times, but not too alarmingly. One only has to follow the electric lines to get to the camp. After a small hot meal, we turned in early. It was going to be action-packed the following day.

The day we had come for was Saga Dawa Duchen, the most important holy day on the Buddhist calendar. It honors the extraordinary events of Shakyamuni Buddha’s birth, enlightenment, and parinirvana (passing into “remainderless nirvana,” ie, no body anymore). It’s said that due to the colossal merit generated by these events, any action performed by the faithful on these days – positive or negative – increases in force by 10,000,000 times. We wuz good boys and girls, natch.

Having a ger to myself, I woke up early, roused by a truly welcome five minutes of rain just at dawn. I started the day with the confessional ceremony the ordained perform on the new and full moon. Then I read aloud the longish Ariyapariyesana Sutra (“The Noble Search”) in which the Buddha describes how one should abandon, as he did, seeking after that which is subject to birth, ageing, sickness, death, sorrow, and defilement – impermanent worldly phenomena – and instead seek the “unborn, unageing, deathless, sorrowless, and undefiled supreme security from bondage, Nirvana.” Solid advice, that.

The group had decided on a meatless diet for the day, so we dined on milk rice and these fabulously addictive twisty cruller things they make. A short intro from yours truly and off we went.

First item on the agenda was a feast offering in the Padmasanbhava Temple. They were already rockin’ out in the “yellow tradition” temple, so I went there to pay my respects to the head honcho, Dush Lama. I told him what we were up to and was shocked by his response.

“No!” he said “No way. That’s only to be done on the 10th and 25th days. No. Everyone should be in here joining with this chanting.”

“Um, but, I cleared this with Altangerel several weeks ago…”

“What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?!”

So I quietly said OK, you're the boss, and went to tell the group. We had just started dismantling our offerings when Baatar Lama came in and said, “Dush Lama wants to know how long this will take.”

“Ninety minutes, two hours max.”

“OK then. You can do it.”

And so we did. The highlight for me was that one of our oldest members, a deeply devout Buddhist named Chulundulam, oversaw the ritual aspects. I’m afraid that as the chant leader, I really couldn’t take photos. Afterward, however, I got a very nice portrait of Chulundulam and her granddaughter Sugar (I swear; pronounced “soo-gar”, tho).

They look positively regal, don’t they? Dig this: Sugar has lived in Istanbul for the past eight years training as a competitive bodybuilder! Not the usual track for a Mongol woman. She’s returning there very soon, just as my nineteen-year old nephew will be visiting. Think he’d like to meet her? Hmm…

Her appearance was most welcome also because regular DODR reader and commenter Carol of Seattle is here and joined us on this trip. It just so happens Carol lived for four years in Turkey and before you knew it, the two of them were happily chatting away in fluent Turkish.

Here’s Carol (on the right) and the other ladies paying homage at the Dakini Ovoo where it’s ladies-only and us fellas have to stay to the side and just snap pics. Chulundulam’s got a particularly stylish way of tossing on offerings, huh?

Well, check out Darisuren (in the orange). Looks like she’s throwing out the first pitch of the season!

From there it was off to Shambhala. Given the still-brisk wind, the group elected to drive rather than walk. Once inside, the first stop was depositing lists of one’s bad deeds into the “Stomach of the Hungry Ghost” to be set on fire and thus purified. Here, Carol burns hers up while Sugar prays that it really works and one diligent pilgrim in the back furiously scribbles a few more naughties that she just remembered.

As always, vodka offerings toward the sacred mountain of the Third Noyon Khutagt (Danzan Ravjaa was the fifth) were hurled into the air with great gusto. Unfortunately, the wind often blew the liquid back and all of us got such a vodka shower that I secretly rejoiced we had no smokers on the trip. It would be hard to convince the group that self-immolation was a positive sign.

Then to the power center, the “brain ovoo” at the back of the site. It’s here that Danzan Ravjaa said if one sang his song “Perfect Qualities” just once it would be like performing 1000 Green Tara pujas. Needless to say, the ladies belted it right out. These pictures crack me up for two reasons. One is that there is this idea that if you raise your arms you get the full jolt of cosmic energy available here. But honestly, doesn’t it look like a come-to-Jesus revival meeting? The other funny thing is how the two guys on the right are too cool to raise their arms.

I had suggested after they sing that we all just sit and meditate, resting in our natural minds, free from discursive thinking. That went great – for about 60 seconds. One dubious quality of this ovoo is that it seems the only spot for miles that you can get cell phone reception. So very quickly several in our party were excitedly shouting into their phones. I found out later that the gist of all their conversations was like this:

“Dude, you’ll never guess where I am! I’m at the energy center at Shambhala in the Gobi! Totally, dude! I called you to send you some of the energy! Can you feel the energy? Raise one of your arms! What? Speak up! I can hardly hear you! Praise Jesus!”

It was annoying to the point where it became hilarious.

Carol said she had had this thing to go to the Gobi Desert since she was small. To my mind, there’s no more classic Gobi vista than the expanse behind Shambhala. So I took her picture with her new friend Saraa so she’d have the memory back in Seattle.

Last stop was the meditation cave site. Not much to say about this, but I will share a fabulous photo in which I captured the exuberant silliness of my young friend Amarjargal, while her loving mama Baljinnyam (in pink short-sleeve) looks on.

Back to Sainshand, where we were surprised to encounter a host of fancy, classic cars until I remembered that I had met the Swiss guy last year who was organizing a Peking-Paris road rally to commemorate the same event from 100 years ago.

The group took in the Danzan Ravjaa Museum while I met with Altangerel to get everything squared away with him before I leave for America.

The most touching part of the whole journey came on the train platform before we boarded. The grandma, Chulundulam, came up to me and said it had been her life’s dream to come to Khamariin Khiid but until now there had been every kind of obstacle. It was one of the highlights of her life, she said, and she would be devoted to Guru Rinpoche until the day she died.

Comments

[Leamur]

Beautiful!


I feel so happy just looking on, it must have been wonderful to be there.

And if you can pardon this samsaric thought: OMG, I want Sugar's dress! She looks to die for.


:)

[Konchog]

Yes, Lea, I know. That's a traditional Mongolian garment called a deel. When I came in for breakfast, almost all the ladies were sporting one, in equally sumptuous, regal colors and fabrics. I was a dope not to get a group photo, but I didn't know they'd take them off once we ventured to the outdoor pilgrimage spots. They make them for men, too, even monks, as outer garments. Maybe someday I'll get one, but much more simple.

[Suzanne]

Imagine this – it is your first trip to Mongolia ever, let alone the remote isolation of the Gobi desert. For two straight days, you have been the only tourist among Mongolians, one of which is your guide, the only other English speaking person in the entire camp. The silence is sweet solace from the hectic life back in Corporate America.

Late in the afternoon, the sky begins to turn black, clouds swirl overhead, and the wind is starting to howl when the guide knocks on the ger door and says he needs to pull the wool covering over the hole in the roof because "much dust is coming!!" About an hour later, I was riding out what seemed to be the mother of all sand storms, packing all my belongings and strapping my passport and money to my body in case I ended up like Dorothy from the movie, the “Wizard of Oz”!! All I could do was lay there humming the song from the movie about the house beginning to twitch as the walls of my Ger flapped and fluttered.

My guide had also told me earlier that evening that I would be joined later by a group of “mediators led by an American Lama". Having spent the morning in what was explained to be the Mongolian Holy Land, it was a toss-up as to which was the more exciting – the sandstorm outside, or the prospect of finding out a little bit more about the place I had just visited that morning.

Finally, the wind died down a bit as car doors began to slam – the group had arrived! There was a hum over the camp and the excitement in the air was palpable, even while still hunkered inside my ger. Unaccustomed to the Mongolian hospitality, it was a bit disconcerting as repeated attempts were made throughout the evening to open my door. Finally, I bravely poked my head out to find that the storm was not only over, but the moon and stars were out and it was a beautiful night! I went to seek help in opening the top of the ger as the near-full moon was directly overhead and I wanted to fall asleep with the moonlight shining through the opening. I now recognize that it was Carol and Saraa who assisted me in the dark of the night. Unfortunately, I think Saraa got half the sandstorm dumped on her in the process (Sorry!!)

I was so excited for the opportunity to learn more about this fascinating place, and was disappointed that I had not quietly snuck into the dining ger earlier that morning to hear what the “American Lama” had to say to the participants of the pilgrimage dressed in their rich jewel-colored satin deels. Much to my delight, he returned later long enough for me to fire off as many questions as his schedule would allow as his group was waiting. Oh, how I longed to join them on this auspicious day! Many times throughout the day I thought of them, and wondered about the outcome of the pilgrimage.

Somewhat frustrated by the lack of information in my Trans-Siberian guidebook, one of the first things I did when I was back in the USA and connected once more was to do a search for more information on Danzanravjaa and the Khamer Monastery. How exciting it was to find this link! I am so grateful to have been able to see the photos of the ceremony! It was the next best thing to being there.

I laughed out loud over the distraction of the mobile phone reception during meditation. Having just spent three days with my excellent guide, I watched his elation each time he reached a point where there was cell reception. As we sat together on the top of a hill overlooking the open steppe, I did my best to explain the irony of two people sitting together on a hilltop, one elated to have cell phone access, the other elated to have escaped it.

Thanks again so much for sharing the wonderful experience!

Suzanne in Atlanta, Georgia, USA

[Konchog]

Well well well! How lovely of you to share your story, Suzanne! I really felt bad that I had to cut our conversation short, but when 22 Mongolian ladies are itchy to begin their first pilgrimage, one keeps them waiting at one's peril! So glad you got off the train for a little Gobi adventure. It'll stay with you for life, I'm sure.

[Vedran]

Too cool to raise arms,but not too cool for that hat, eh? Tsk, tsk, tsk... :}

I see you had spectacular pilgrimage there and I wish you many more of them in future!

[Carol of Seattle]

Suzanne,
I was very happy to have had a chance to help you with your roof. We distributed your pens and goodies to the kids at monastery, they were well received. Hope we cross paths again in the desert some day, when we have time for a cup of tea.