After our successful journey to Dalanzadad in the South Gobi, we met with the principle who had agreed to give Vannie a chance, even so he lacks the educational requirements which were recently implemented in Mongolia.
The school combines a vocational program with regular high school. In short, in two and a half years, Vannie will have a high school diploma and a profession of his choice.
Vannie is not a boy of many words, but I could see that he was excited. And not a bit scared. After a three-year absence, he’ll have to become re-accustomed to the tight schedule and requirements of schooling, while learning to operate heavy machinery, while catching up on the grades seventh through ninth, which he lacks so far. He says he can do it and I believe him. I have the feeling he understands that this is pretty much his one – if not only - chance to get out of the funk of his dependency and be defined by what by what he has to offer, rather then what he lacks.
The principle asked us to return the next day to settle all forms, signatures and payments, so we found ourselves with half a day of free time in the South Gobi. I so rarely have half a day of free time that I decided I wanted to be a tourist for once!
We hired a driver with a Russian jeep to drive to the Sand Dunes, which were supposed to be three hours away. On the way, we would visit the Valley of the Vultures, a narrow mountain formation, which Mongolians describe as their mini Grand Canyon.
We walked along the stream that had carved its way through the valley. The mountains above us became so narrow that the sun wouldn’t reach, unless it was straight above us. Somehow, the valley reminded me on Peter Weir’s Picnic at Hanging Rock. I could easily see us disappear into another world, never to be heard from again.
Unfortunately, we had to rush through the valley in order to make it before sundown to the Sand Dunes. It turned out all the rushing didn’t help, mainly because the drive was six hours instead of the promised three. I should have known better.
By the time we arrived, I had permanent nerve damage in my butt (after all we just survived a 16 hour bus ride!) and was mad as hell. The sun was just about to disappear, so the three of us hopped out of the car and rushed towards the dunes. As soon as we arrived on the top of the first dune, my mood changed. It is a magical place; Sahara like dunes in the middle of an oasis, surrounded by mountains.
The mountains are said to be three women. They once met three herders, who promised to return for them. The woman waited, first patiently then desperately, but no one came. Because of their deep sadness and longing, they turned into stone and became the mountains that now runs alongside the ever-moving sand dunes. When the wind quiets down, you can still hear them calling for their men.
It’s a Mongolian tradition to write your name into the sand while in the dunes. Surprisingly – or maybe not – Vannie kept moving from spot to spot, writing his name just to cover it up with sand again. Those are the moments I would like to preserve, hoping that eventually they will forgive us, and themselves.
We suddenly heard a thundering noise. With the last sliver of daylight a team of horses appeared at the ridge of the dunes, galloping towards us. It was so surreal. Apparently they went home, as horses always do, which I didn’t know. There is a story of a horse that was given as a gift to the Vietnamese Prime Minister, when he visited Mongolia. They flew the horse to Vietnam, where it escaped and eventually, many months later, it reappeared in Mongolia, at his true owner’s yurt. I love that story.
For having been in the Sand Dunes of South Gobi for exactly 25 minutes, I have seen and felt quite a bit!
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