Out on a green valley hemmed in by rolling hills, dotted with gers, and watched over by the eternal blue sky, my daughter Ysabelle and I, together with Bruce and Erdene, discovered the fierce bees of Gorkhi-Terelj.
After a hearty lunch of grilled fish, steamed vegetables, rice and tsuivan at UB2 (Ulaanbaatar Hotel 2), our little band crossed the bridge over the gushing clear waters of the Tuul river. The last time I saw the river was in wintertime, when it was a shimmering white solid block of ice.
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| Ysabelle and UB2 Photo credit: Greca Durant |
We followed a path in the woods that led to the other river crossing. This time, it was no steel bridge but an interesting compilation of earth, pebbles, logs, branches, twigs, roots and leaves.
Photo credit: Ysabelle Durant
From here, the bee farm was three kilometers away. Thankfully, the bee keeper was on hand with his trusty Russian motorbike. Ysabelle and I became his first passengers. He would come back for Bruce and Erdene.
We roared our way into the great country, up and down gullies, passing horses and horse riders, cows, goats, dogs, gers, and finally deposited in front of his ger. Ysabelle and I were ushered in and we sat on the bed. The bee keeper hurried back on his 'machine' to pick up Bruce and Erdene.
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| The Russian-made motorbike: Tops! Photo credit: Ysabelle Durant |
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| The bee keeper's ger complete with solar panels, dish and Russian army truck (behind) Photo credit: Greca Durant |
The bee keeper's daughter, who was preening in front of the mirror, applying eyeliner and lipstick, took a short break from her activity and poured milk tea into deep bowls. She served these to us accompanied by boortsog, Mongolian butter-fried bread. Mongolians are well-known for their warm hospitality, even to strangers.
When everyone was accounted for, we headed out to the bee farm, on the foot of a hill. Green boxes were laid out on the ground. There was also a covered shed, some kind of shelter, where tools were kept.
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| Green bee boxes scattered on the green Photo credit: Ysabelle Durant |
We put on our protective gear, actually just a bee-keeper's veil. It was good enough for me.
Photo credit: Ysabelle Durant
But not good enough for the others, even for the bee keeper.
Photo credit: Greca Durant
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| Ysabelle got stung big time! Photo credit: Ysabelle Durant |
Photo credit: Ysabelle Durant
Back in the bee keeper's ger, to nurse the pain from the stings, we snacked on bread with fragrant honey and roasted sheep's head. Mmmm...
Photo credit: Greca Durant
Photo credit: Greca Durant
The bee keeper saved us again from a long walk back to UB2 by hauling us, his mates, his children, practically everybody in his village, in his giant of a Russian army truck. The rugged terrain posed no problem. The 'Russian machine' as it was called, forded surging rivers and easily navigated high riverbanks. Our little band was safely deposited in front of Terelj's bar.
Photo credit: Ysabelle Durant
Photo credit: Ysabelle Durant
Photo credit: Ysabelle Durant
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