Photo by Hal Cannon

Young Buddhist Monk Carrying Water at Gandantegchenling Monastery in Ulaan Baatar.
Back in the old days of Ghengis Khan, Mongolians worshiped the great blue sky and the natural world, but at some point Tibetan-style Buddhism took hold here and flourished until communist rule. In 1990 a democratic revolution took place bringing Mongolia independence. Through much of the 20th century fierce repression of Buddhism saw 900 monasteries destroyed and countless monks killed or conscripted to the Russian Army. There is an imposing golden standing Buddha [boddhisatva] here that was even melted down for the World War II effort by the Russians. Luckily, this over-75-foot statue has been rebuilt, standing proud in a temple that towers over this complex of schools and spiritual enlightenment, where 900 monks currently live and study.

Stay tuned,
Hal


First day of Sagebrush to Steppe Cultural Exchange, Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia, the Bayangol Hotel
We awoke to this view out of our hotel balcony. Low lying hills and plenty of open space made me think I was in some mid-sized Montana city. After nearly 20 hours of travel we did not hear much during the night except the sound of trains going past on the legendary Trans Siberian Railway, a track that runs from the Capitol of China to the Capitol of Russia. Later in the day we found that Ulaan Baatar, the Capitol of Mongolia and a city of a million people, is not as bucolic as I thought waking up. It is a changing city, each day making some dramatic move toward the modern world -- more buildings, more cars, and even a Mongolian hip-hop concert on the plaza in front of the state department store this afternoon. Four years ago, when the Western Folklife Center came here to begin research for this cultural exchange, there were no cell phones. Now, every young person dressed like young people everywhere saunters down the streets with a cell phone glued to her ear. There are even traffic jams now. When I asked about the rules of traffic (there being few lines and no apparent rhyme to the driving) our translator told me Mongolians drive like they ride their horses. Suddenly I could see this horde of Mongolians, drivers of steel stallions, in a different light. At lunch we met some of our Mongolian friends who came to perform in Elko a couple of years back. They wore their Capriola cowboy hats proudly as we dined at the Ghengis Kahn Irish Pub, Ulaan Baatar's newest chic restaurant. They sang us a song praising Ghengis Khan, a welcome to a thousand years of cultural history.

Stay tuned,
Hal

Our Last Day in the Big City
Tomorrow we head off for the countryside no electricity, no lights in the sky at night, sleeping on the steppe near encampments of herding families. I guess that means no postcards for a few days. Tonight we staged a concert at the U.S. Embassy. The finale included the Mongolian musicians playing along to "Home on the Range" and "Oh Suzanna." It did not end there. Our group learned a lovely Mongolian melody, an honor song for the city of Ulaan Baatar. It is such an amazing experience to bring the traditions of ordinary Americans who live on the land to ordinary Mongolians who live on the land. Everyone is quite excited to experience two of the great pieces of nostalgia for the American cowboy: a land without fences and a life following the animals.

Stay tuned for more,
Hal

From Teresa Jordan:
Every good marriage (and I suspect a lot of bad ones) has a division of labor. You know how it is: I'll fix the oatmeal and you fix the plumbing. Or vice versa. Hal and I have settled into a division of sorts when we travel. I look; he listens. I'm the sketcher, the painter, and often the photographer. He brings back the sound.

If every marriage has a characteristic imprint in its habits, every country has a characteristic imprint in its sensations: a particular light, taste, texture, smell ... and sound. Hal has been busy capturing the signature sounds of Mongolia: the incessant car horns (traffic here in the capital city of Ulaan Baatar -- never huge by big-city standards but omnipresent -- is as loud at 4 am as it is at noon); the creak of prayer wheels; the deep cello sweetness of the horse fiddle; the penetrating fog horn of the Trans Siberian Railway in the middle of the night; the coo of pigeons at the temples, enjoying the seeds thrown by folks hoping to increase good karma in the world.

What in the world is a folklorist? Being married to one, I can't help asking this question now and then. Sometimes I think the definition is as simple as this: a listener.

-- Teresa Jordan

 The Group
They had to take me kicking from our group as they ride horseback across the Steppe of Mongolia. This cultural exchange is working, one smile, one song, and one greeting at a time. The group poses here beneath a new monument based on ancient shamanism and honoring the Mongolian kings. I am overwhelmed by this vast place and a people who are rooted so deeply on this land and with their animals.

Stay tuned,
Hal

 
Hal Records Yak Milking Songs
The prior evening after trying out fermented mare’s milk for the third time and milk vodka for the first and last time, I listened as this lovely lady played single strings on an old Russian guitar and sang songs with a few other folks who live near our campsite. We traded music, a cowboy song for a Mongolian herding song, inside the Ger (meaning house in Mongolian and Yert in Russian) late into the evening. Bright and early I spotted her milking out in the pasture. I just wanted to get the sound of Yak milk hitting the bucket. Then, through a translator, I asked if she had songs for milking. All of a sudden, the sound of milk hitting the pail became percussion in time to a song meant to relax the Yak. Afterward, she sang a song about the river valley where we are camped and commented on how the songs had improved the milking. I asked her how long her family had herded in this place. She replied, at this time of year, they had been herding here for centuries. This is the old world.

Hal

Listen to Hal's recording of Sagebrush to Steppe in our Deep West radio section.