After six days in Gobi desert and one whole day of driving, we finally reached the Princess camp. From dry flat planes to rugged mountains, from browns and grays to gurgling rivulets and lush greens, from 40 degrees to -5 degrees, all in a period of 12 hours!
The Princess camp was yet another Ger camp, no different from that in Gobi, except that it was freezing cold. There was a coal heater with the chimney going out from the center of the Ger. Our hosts entered the Ger every few hours to reload the coal, while we tried to sleep. Their intrusion was welcomed, for obvious reasons!
The next day, our guide told us we would be going to an old ruin some 10 km away for a picnic. There were horses for those who wanted to ride, much to the delight of Atreya and Shalini, and an ox-cart for those who couldn't- mom and me. By now it was snowing lightly. We wore sweaters and jackets offered to us by our very maternal hosts, but the cold was bone-chilling. They then trussed mom and me in blankets, with a rope tied around us to hold them in place.
We were then picked up and placed on the ox-cart, the keyword being "on". Our seat was a flat piece of wood that was somehow attached to the yoke around the ox's neck. There were no side railing or any back rest. Who were we to complain?
A few hundred yards into the drive, with no arms available to help prop us up, trussed up as we were, we found ourselves less sitting and more lying down on the wooden platform. Mom and I looked at each other helplessly, with snow now drifting onto our faces and mouths. There was no beautiful scenery to be seen, only a gray-white sky and a pitiable face mirroring mine!
Suddenly, there was a jerk and a shout. The wooden platform stood at an odd angle. I managed to get my arms out of the blanket, propped myself up and turned around to see what the commotion was about. Our ox-cart was sans the ox! There was just the wooden plank somehow balanced on the slushy muddy path, with mom and me somehow still on it!
I could see our ox-cart driver running and shouting after the ox who had decided enough was enough. All this while we were thinking about our discomfort but who knew that the ox was the real victim!
It was a funny site seeing the ox running away, but not more than the site we presented to our horse riding friend and family, who could be heard laughing loudly and calling out to the driver.
Noticing how precariously we were perched, the driver discontinued the ox chase and returned to help us. With no English-speaking guide nearby to translate for us, it was somehow agreed that he would carry mom on his back across the slushy path where the ox had abandoned us. While he did that, I shook off the blanket and hopped off the cart. No way I would let that man take on the burden of carrying me across, however sturdy he may be!
After making sure we were safe, he once again ran to get the ox back, who was now happily chewing on some dry grass. After much pulling and cajoling, he was brought back to the cart and yoked again. We hopped back on top of the plank, this time with the blankets only loosely wrapped around us.
I don't remember much of the ruins or the picnic, but this episode from 20 years ago is as clear in my mind as if it happened just yesterday!
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