The Quail Eggs of Seoraksan
One
thing about travel is, unless it is fairly assured that you will be
killed or maimed because of your choices, you never say “no” to
anything. So if the opportunity to be a Leafer comes up at a
beautiful mountain range in South Korea, you go. If there is an
opportunity to hike the ravine, even after obtaining the summit on
the previous day and you may have a blister or three, you hike. Or,
if there is a whole boat of quail eggs marinated in soy sauce in
front of you after you are done your hiking, and there is an
opportunity to have another boat of quail eggs served to just you for
no additional cost, you order that other boat of quail eggs. Neither
I, nor another gentleman (who may in fact be pictured in this photo)
said no. We may have been filled with a pound of quail eggs each, but
at least we truly experienced Seoraksan. You may ask, what do quail
eggs have to do with Seoraksan? Well, I have no idea.
Ravine Hike by Me
One! in Mongolia
Mongolian National Park View by Me
My
unexpected trip to Mongolia could, and has, literally filled pages.
From a near mugging in the Ulaan Batar black market to having to flee
a nightclub in the middle of the night when all the travel guides say
“do not go out after dark,” it was an interesting trip. However,
my favourite part was riding the Mongolian horses in a National Park
close to the capital city. I may be a bit boring in my taste for the
wide open countryside, but it was a beautiful experience. There were
amusing aspects of it as well. Our guide could only say one word in
English, and the word was “one” appropriately enough. He was a
trickster of sorts, riding bareback yelling “yee haw!” at
unpredictable intervals and slapping your horse’s butt every time
you produced your camera. I was able to keep a hold of my camera,
though not all my shots were exactly level.
Yee Haw! by Me
It was a good game and
made taking pictures a little more interesting. There were no hard
feelings, and he shared a shot of Chingis vodka with us that night in
our ger (read, “yurt”). A little vodka fortified us against the
extremes of cold and heat we experienced that night, with Mongolians
coming in like fire spirits to stoke the hearth. One moment you would
be shivering in your sleeping bag, the next drenched in sweat like
you had just been forced into a sauna. If I ever win the lottery, I
will purchase myself a ger and a Mongolian horse and establish them
in my backyard. That is how much fun I had.
The Guide by Me
