“Sign, tah sign by no”? (Hi, how are you?)

I’m learning Mongolian.

Once a week, I have a lesson with my tutor, Amar. He is very kind and extremely patient.

Remembering Mongolian words and pronunciations is an iffy proposition on my best days. But my sunny teacher seems unattached to my performance.

Mongolian does not sound anything like my native tongue. Some people think its sounds like Welsh, another easy language to master. Maybe Klingon?

By now, I am sure you are wondering why I chose to learn such an exotic language. Wouldn’t French be a wiser choice, given I live in Quebec part time?

Perhaps.

I never would have considered learning the language had it not been for a trip this past summer. I took a group of adventurous souls to the far north of that country, where Mongolia and Siberia meet.

So beautiful, so mysterious, so rugged, so ferociously wild!

“Psych’in!” (Beautiful)

We traveled over 1,000 kilometers off-road. When I say we were off-road, I mean it quite literally. There are no roads. There are plenty of rivers, marshes, mud patches and other obstacles to navigate.

When we got stuck, which was often, one vehicle would tow the other past the difficulty. When the tires blew (seven – “dollo-o”), the drivers quickly repaired or changed them. In this country, you must be McGyver if you are to survive.

We did a lot of bouncing as we made our way over the empty landscape at 30 kilometers an hour.

Luckily, the Russian-made vans were equipped with padded ceilings to prevent concussions. That was useful. Learning Mongolian and relearning English might be too much for me.

When we had gone as far as we could in the vans, we traded them for horses and reindeers for the journey to the Tsaatan Reindeer herder’s camp. The Tsaatan people are originally from Tuva. They live in small family units amidst their herds.

My horse was named Tank. He earned his name for his ability to go through anything, like a Russian tank. He lived up to his name.

Horseback riding was a new experience for me. I had taken riding lessons for six months in preparation for the journey, but nothing prepared me for the ride through the mountain forests and marshy taiga. Nothing prepared me for the experience of sharing leadership during the ride – sometimes I led, other times Tank led. It was an interdependent dance. And nothing prepared me for the beauty of the songs our Tsaatan guides sang as we rode.

We slept in tents, gers and tipis. We lived close to the land and with very few needs. When you are on the land, water, fire, simple food, a good story, and companionship seem far more important than the size of your bank account, what club you belong to or where you went to college.

One afternoon our group stopped to camp beside a river. There seemed to be no one for miles. Shortly after we made camp we heard a motorcycle approaching. There were two tiny riders heading our way. They turned out to be boys about ten and eight years old. They had come for candy, a customary gift given to Mongolian children by travellers. The boys collected their plunder and drove away. “Bayarlalaa!” (Thank you).

The next morning, shortly before we broke camp, the boys were back. This time, they were the gift givers. A plate of fresh-churned butter. Heaven!

There were many lessons on the land, lessons that could easily be applied back home.

An important one was to choose to be uncomfortable. I certainly was uncomfortable much of the time. I learned my comfort zone was a trap. While it appeared to keep me safe, it actually robbed me of an important experience in my life – adventure.

Going new places and learning new things from people living lives very different from my own was invaluable. It stretches how you see the world and your place in it. It also reminds you what is most important in life, most of which has nothing to do with the material world.

Secondly, I have way too much stuff. I packed things I never used. They took up too much room and slowed me down. Stuff is weighing me down at home too. Time to simplify.

No one survives alone. Nor do we survive when we are overly dependent. Interdependence, where we each pull our own weight and seek to help each other, is a sustainable form of community.

Accept other people as they are. The Mongolian’s made it clear that acceptance of people’s differences is a means of survival. It keeps groups cohesive. The Mongolian rule of conflict resolution? Give yourself five minutes to be angry with someone. Address it and move on.

Being on the land is very good for your cognitive health. Dr. Daniel Levitin, a neuroscientist, reminds us that walking in the wild is more important than hitting the gym. In his recent book called Successful Aging: A Neuroscientist Explores the Power and Potential of Our Lives, Levitin suggests this form of exercise plays a critical part in the continuous development of memory and the ability to navigate.

Finally, learning Mongolian is a practice in respect. I don’t expect to become proficient in the language immediately. The ability to say a few words is an important way to create connection and demonstrate I care about my hosts. It also fosters “beginner’s mind”, a way of breaking free of my own cultural biases.

No matter what you chose to do, challenge yourself to grow this year. You will benefit from departing the status quo of your own life for the adventure of an unknown territory that lies beyond your certainties.

Dara owl zee! (See you later!)

Patrick O’Neill

Lessons from Mongolia