The Horsehead Fiddle

We've been carrying a horsehead fiddle with us, with the expectation that one of the people on our journey will play it. We have arrived at his ger.

He is a famous blacksmith in the area. His was the one and only ger I saw that was equipped with a bellows by the stove.

We brought in the fiddle, then had to wait for it to come up to ambient temperature. The blacksmith then went out in search of tree sap, which he would later put on the strings.

(Is this normal? I have never played a stringed instrument. But I have tried to clean sap off of my car upon occasion.) The sap - according to Badmaa - is used so that the strings make a good sound.

The blacksmith played a marvellous song on the horsehead fiddle. It was a combination of bow use and plucking, and deeply rhythmic. I could almost hear horses trotting through the melody...

While he played, more and more people gathered in the ger to see what was going on. At one point I counted 14 people huddled inside. And the ger was smaller than most. This would be one recording where removing extraneous sounds would be critical...

The Wedding Ger: Reprise!

In September '07, our Boojum horseback trekking group stopped at the ger of a newlywed couple. We (all 14 of us) piled inside their new ger, asked all sorts of questions, and took photos.

In February '08, I visited the same ger while out recording -- but the ger was in a completely different location (the winter camp). This was a rather special visit for me, and it brought home just what a small world this really is. How was I to know in September that I would ever see any of these wonderful people again? I do know I was incredibly grateful to have brought along pictures taken last year to give to the people in the photographs.

They were thrilled to have the pictures. "Everyone takes pictures. No one ever gives us copies," said this couple. Well, almost no one. I was glad to be different from most travelers in that regard. Because I was distributing photos, people were more than willing to pose for more pictures.

I did learn that pictures are important to the Mongolians. They love to have pictures of themselves and their families. As we continued the journey, each recording session also became a family portrait session as well. 

Along the Jargalan River

February 2.

The Jargalan River takes a lazy course across part of the Darhad Valley. All along there are places where families camp during the winter. We are at the home of one such family.

7:30 a.m. - There is something very comforting about the sound of milk tea being made in the morning. The rhythmic stirring is almost poetic. I have heard it every morning in the countryside. There are other sounds of the morning... an a.m. radio, electric razor on the man, a child's voice. And someone was up at 4:30 am to stoke the fire. 

10:30 a.m. - Brilliant move on Mishig's part. He told us we should hike to the top of the hill behind the house (while waiting for singers to arrive). As we ascended, I was immediately reminded that we are at altitude (over 5,000 feet). This was the first time I broke a sweat on the trip, other than each morning as I struggled to stuff my sleeping bag into its XL stuff sack (it barely fit). The hike was wonderful and refreshing. It also gave a glimpse of the beautiful valley.

I learned that February 2nd is Sukhbaatar's birthday. He was a Soviet hero. Mongolians used to celebrate birthdays of all the Soviet heroes, but no longer do. Many adults remember the tradition, however.

The Virtual Party

Mishig took video of the singers in each of our recording sessions. This provided a means for establishing rapport with each new family and singer. 

In fact, everyone was more than eager to see and hear those who had already sung for us. The elderly lady who showed up with such enthusiasm in Bayanzurkh unwittingly performed for her friends throughout the valley, by way of Mishig's videocamera. Of all those we had recorded, people requested her by name more than any other! It was an especially heartwarming moment when we showed that video to the author/poet who had actually written one of the songs she sang. Her many friends scattered about the region all saw her... by the end of the trip I was wishing we could return to share their songs with her, but that would have to wait. 

Thus we had an increasingly large entourage of singers - a virtual party - traveling digitally with us in this remote region. 

It became clear to me that the Darhad people are a well-defined community, even if they live in small towns or even smaller clusters of camps in various corners of this valley. The Darhad number approximately 13,000. They are not the smallest ethnic group in Mongolia; the 400 Dukha, or reindeer herders (who also share the northern part of this valley), may claim that distinction. The Darhad know each other. They know who the poets are, who sings, and who lives where during the winter and summer. Some of the songs pay tribute to (or tease about) people they know, characters who have lived among them and ultimately joined the collective consciousness.