MONGOLIA | History of volunteering in Taiga

WHAT YOU FIND IN THIS ARTICLE
→ A travel story about our 10-day experience of volunteering with a family Mongolia.
→ A link to our practical article "WORKAWAY | Why don't we go and make ourselves useful? Practical guide."which gathers everything you want to know about this type of volunteer travel if you too want to experience this alternative way of travelling.

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CHAPTER 1 | OF MONGOLIA

CONFIDENCE WITH AN UNKNOWN.

It is September 30th. We've been driving for 712 kilometers and are sitting on the bench of an old bus, rocked by the rolling and Mongolian clips that loop in the little TV 12 hours. If we were in France, we would have crossed the entire country from north to south, but that night we crossed one quarter of the immense Mongolia. Yet the old bus and its driver did the job: we are early. It could have been good news, if it hadn't been 5:00 in the morning.

Cries signal our arrival in this last city before the taiga and draw us out of our sleep. We get out of our polars, tidy our inflatable pillows, pick up our bags piled up at the back under several large boxes of food, and we find our eyes out half open. It's 0° degrees, dark night and it's not the low halo of the streetlight of this unknown city that will help us locate us. The bus leaves and leaves us alone. Focus on our maps and the latest instructions received from Davaa (our correspondent and mother of the family we are about to meet)* We don't exchange a word. Everyone knows what he has to do. and in view of the fog in our ill-awakened minds, not speaking is even simpler.

* We knew Davaa with the platform Workaway : a platform that connects locals looking for a little help and travellers wishing to bring it to them. The principle is simple: in exchange for various work, the volunteer is fed and/or housed. The exact modalities are different depending on the case and the duration can vary from a few days to a month, or two, or three... Depending on the time each has. Davaa has offered us to stay and take care of breakfast + evening meal for the time we would like in exchange... What you'll soon find out.

After about ten minutes a man descends from a car and advances into the night. His vehicle doesn't look like a taxi at all but he has to discern our foreign heads and seize the opportunity: "Go somewhere? Me ok!" he said by designating his car. Circumstances leave us not so much choice.

Thirty minutes later, we're sitting on a new bench. We trust a stranger who, After studying two minutes the point we put on a map, runs in the middle of the night on a small road from Mongolia. We can't tell what's around us. Maxime got carried away by fatigue. I sleep half and try to open my eyes regularly to point our GPS position on the map. Our driver doesn't speak 10 words in English. We look like we're going in the right direction.

AFTER THE BLACK NIGHT, THE DORE COLLINES.

It is about 6:30 am, the sun has just risen: first it illuminates the snowy peaks of the mountains that form the horizon, we discover them, then it ignites the vast burned plains of the taiga. Soon, it sparkles the waters of a huge lake. From the dark night, We go to the golden hills. Our eyes sting but have definitely opened to the sight of this landscape. From time to time, our driver turns around to make great announcements of his loud and cheerful voice. We don't understand, but he smiles with full teeth. The contemplation of what surrounds us absorbs us and we feel like we are discovering... A new world.

There are three words: purity, contrast, beauty. The painting is enchanting. Under a sky of a hypnotizing blue, the ochre hills embrace the crystal clear waters whose multitude of wavelets caressed by the wind bring back the sun. On the shores, some forests with autumnal robes take place. Their orange fits perfectly with burnt land. In the background, the bluish peaks with white hairs watch wisely. Soon, small wood houses with colourful roofs will appear... This vision alone deserves all past actions. We're here..

WELCOME IN YOUR YOUTH

Despite the sun that has just risen, the whole village seems to be asleep. We're getting aware that we're gonna have to knock on the unknown door. to wake them up and announce our arrival... After zigzaging for a while between the wooden houses, still by car (only one paved axis crosses the village, the other "ways" are only ice fields), our unhoped-for driver ends up finding the place we were looking for. In an excess of enthusiasm, he slams the door of the vehicle and tells us to stay inside. And go away. He's heading for the property we were looking for... Then reappears a few minutes later, accompanied by a young woman with hair still tangled who tries to simmer under a big wool sweater. Her black almond eyes barely exceed her rolled neck. They bend a little more and we guess a smile when she sees us: it's Miiga, Davaa's sister. Apparently, pulling a stranger out of his sleep wasn't a problem for our driver decidedly full of surprises.

Presentations are quick. Davaa isn't here, but she warned her family that we were coming today. Of the five members, Davaa is the only one who speaks English. Until it returns, we will have to settle for universal language: mimes. Her sister, about thirty years old, nevertheless seems to have learned a few words for the occasion: she does not need more to make herself understood. Concerned about the morning hour at which we arrive, the cold and our long journey (our attempts to reassure her do not do much) she hastened to designate us a small wooden cabin as well as a yurt. She makes us understand that we can choose: This place will be for us. It's a surprise because we didn't know how we were going to sleep. Since mattresses were expected on the floor, having your own small home is a luxury. We choose yurt*.

* Did you know that? In Mongolia the word "yourth" is not used. The correct name is "ger". But to know everything about yurts or "gers", it's this way: We share all our anecdotes and several amazing information in a few lines.

We barely have time to put our bags down, which it has become volatile. She returns a few minutes later, always at the pace of a race, followed by an older man. His father, probably? Did he, too, wake up because of us? She calls it "Fire!". The tall and thin man with a small cap makes us a sign of the head when he almost excuses to go back to a place who is more at home than at home. He silently started the fire in the small central stove. A little overwhelmed by so much attention, we ask his daughter how we can help: "Sleep! You cold, tired!".

We find ourselves alone in less time than it takes to understand. We're looking at this little yurt that will be our home for the next 10 days. Behind the stove, a real bed (we know that nomads sleep on the floor) with a thick duvet extends our arms. To the left, a small table and a seat. To the right, a low furniture. The ground is a kind of carpet and over the meshes (which form the « walls » and give the yurt its circular shape) large coloured blankets were arranged. The flames crackle. Under the vaulted ceiling everything is quiet. The golden and blue landscapes are still floating in our heads. Are we really here? Two hours earlier, an old bus left us in the night and the cold. We're on the duvet. It's 7:30 in the morning. Our eyes get lost in the circular roof opening through which the smoke escapes... And as fast as his volutes progress toward heaven, we're going to sleep..

CHAPTER 2 | FIRST VOLUNTARIA IN TAIGA

MARAL

Our eyes are slowly opening. The fire has almost extinguished but the sun is now high enough to pass its rays through the circular opening of the dome. They warm our sleeping bodies. The sky is an extraordinary blue. Everything is deeply calm. Is that why we feel so light? It's as if this place had seduced us. We just did the best "siest" in our life (it must be 10 or 11 am).

A yurt blow brings us up. You have to bend to untie the lock (which reaches us about to the knees) then to pass in the frame of the small door of orange and blue wood. "Yaaah!!!" we are greeted outside by a little warrior who does not need to fall down to pass the front door. It's Maral The daughter of Davaa. She's 7 years old and wields a long stick in a challenging posture. Very quickly, we get a choreography worthy of Mulan punctuated with "Yaahh! Yaaahhh!". Without exchanging a word, We answer the invitation and start playing "fight". She's not a bit shy and laughs with shrapnel. She understands when asked "What's your name? – Maral!". We are all three under the sun and for the first time we discover the estate.

GER CAMP AT THE BORD OF LAC

Davaa's family started a few years ago to create a Ger camp to host travellers who would like to discover this wilderness*. Surrounded by high wooden fences like a ranch, the family estate extends a little less than 200m long and a few hundred meters wide. East, three minutes walk, the banks of the immense sapphire lake take place. To the north, Taiga Mountains and impressive Siberian forests stand in the background. The estate includes: six yurts, two rather rudimentary small wooden chalets in which the family sleeps, a house construction with four dry toilets and a huge, huge yurt that houses a kitchen and a common room.

* The ger camps or "camps de gers / yurtes" in French are places gathering several yurts intended to accommodate travellers. As nomadic life becomes increasingly difficult, many nomads (and Mongolians in general) turn to tourism to support their needs.

But everything is empty. We are far from the high season and Davaa, her two children, her sister and their grandfather are the only ones living on the estate. We go towards the big yurt: an imposing door covered with motifs carved in the wood serves as an entrance. We grow it and discover a large high ceiling room with a small fireplace in the center. At the top, the same circular opening that communicates with the sky, but much larger than that of our own yurt. Some tables are arranged so that travellers can enjoy breakfast or a meal, a sofa and a dark wooden bar counter finish furnishing the room. Totally empty, the counter never seems to have served. But it is precisely to help them develop this activity (the reception and accommodation of travellers) that we are here. Moreover, in this season or no visit is expected, The family must redouble its efforts to maintain the estate and cope with the harsh winter.

A NEW INATTENDANCE

It's about that time that we get a message from Davaa. He doesn't tell us very good news. "My son had an accident. He's fine, but I'm gonna be held in the capital for a few days. Rest and take time for you in the next few days while waiting for my return. I hope you're well settled. Ask my family if you need anything."*.

* Davaa speaks a very good English. For the comfort of reading her lyrics are directly translated here, but it is in English that we communicate with her.

The situation is unexpected and the announcement of an accident almost a thousand kilometers away makes us feel helpless. After being reassured about her son's state of health, the best we could do is to offer him our "distance" help: If she is aware of certain tasks that we could do here in her absence to make herself useful, she could tell us by messages. Although the place is most enchanting, we are not here to rest and do not want to feel like we enjoy the hospitality of this family: the principle of mutual exchange and enrichment on which this kind of experience is based is what motivates us in this way of travel and we want to respect it. Just being there makes us feel lucky, so giving back what they offer to us is important to us. But by meeting alone for several days with three adults and two children whose language is not spoken at all and as a single instruction: « Rest »The question now is: how ?

CHAPTER 3 | EVERY DAY LIFE

BEFORE THE TIME

Davaa seems to want us to enjoy several days of rest in her absence and supports this will by the fact that a wave of cold is coming. Outside work will be difficult. Our sim card purchased from Ulaanbaatar allows us to have a little network: we consult the weather and its predictions are confirmed. Within a few days, it should be -25°C and more than thirty centimetres of snow should cover the landscape... Hard to imagine when you see this great sun.

You probably already have your weather app, but if you don't know it we advise you to test it. WeatherBlue It's the only one we use. It works all over the world, is super accurate and you can even enter GPS coordinates to know the forecasts for an exact location. Often, even in lost places, his predictions proved correct at the next hour!

So we have a few days before the winter storm arrives. Maybe five before Davaa came back. Only, always in this huge yurt, covered with sweaters, gloves and bonnet despite the sun and the small fireplace, we make a brief state of the situation: we are delivered to ourselves to people whose culture and language are totally alien to us, in a village cut off from the world with half-abandoned, with a snowstorm that promises. This is not really the beginning of Workaway that we imagined but, curiously perhaps, this perspective makes us... Happy. These months of nomadic life have surely given us a certain adaptability and to two, we have this treasure that is the ability... To rejoice little. The ambient cold and the announced polar temperatures only strengthen our excitement.

The journey is instructive: the more time you spend on the roads, the more you learn about yourself. In time we learned that this was one of the things that we especially liked in nomadic life: spending time (living) in a place where there is apparently nothing to do. It is often there that are the nice surprises.

WHEN HABITUDIES COMMENCE

Heating

Every day, we learn new things. We forget our habits to take Davaa's family. Without talking to each other, Nasa, her father, teaches us how to light and manage the fire in our craft stove. Essential to survival, it is understood why these flames that warm ice bodies are sacred in Mongolia. If we don't take care of it, the temperatures quickly fall in negative in the yurt. Every morning, this man, who is not able to give an age to cut wood unrelentingly, then, in his quiet step, a little staggering, he replenishes in turn the different homes: a pile for the fireplace of the great yurt (in which one takes refuge at each breakfast), a pile for the little cottage in which the family sleeps, a pile for our yurt. With modesty, he knocks at us (at home), gently drops his delivery and always refuses any help with a smile.

The bathroom

There is no running water or shower on the estate. So for the evening or morning toilet, everything is done sink installed in the big yurt : basically, it is a small wooden piece on which holds a water balloon of about 3 liters. By tilting the tip that goes beyond it, a thin thread is poured: it is enough to brush your teeth or make one « Cat toilet » with our solid soap (all under our clothes, since the whole is installed in sight of all in the big yurt). This small piece of furniture next to the entrance becomes our bathroom. It's pretty funny to wash in the dining room! When these are the evenings of « Large toilet », we dress up with thin and broad clothes and we go back and forth by trotting to avoid catching cold: the ice toilet does not clean up with the taiga winter temperatures! The advantage is that in the morning this clear water passed on our face certainly awakens us. And when we go out to the aurora walk by the banks to see the sun rise, fresh air from the mountains.

The kitchen

In the morning, it is also the time when we meet Miiga, Davaa's sister. To prepare each breakfast we join her in the kitchen. We know how to say hello in Mongolian ("Sound batha uu", pronounced "Sen Benoo") and while we cook our eggs in the ancient pan, we try to learn new words. Our clumsy essays make her laugh and if she doesn't feel very useful, we think it's at least that. After washing the dishes in the still-ice water basin, She shows us how we cook in Mongolian food.. Often, it is a question of cutting all kinds of vegetables and immerse them in the large pot placed on the pan. Then, of course, we add eternal sheepmeat. We know tonight's gonna be hot.

Family life

Children fill much of our days. We quickly get to know Maral's older brother, Anand. Day after day our presence has effect only to make the curiosity, excitement and energy An inexhaustible 7 and 10 year old duo. It's not uncommon that they come knocking with amazing force at our door « Come on, come on! ». Or that they come out of behind our screens when we work in the great yurt that acts as a common room (Davaa told us that she might have plans to create a communication medium for her camp, we are studying all its current media).

We play a lot in the open air. From 3pm, when the darkness starts to feel, we go in and warm up and sit on the sofa next to the bar. We put on music, sit down and watch our travel photos, show them where we live in France. Davaa began to teach them English, we laugh at the first time we hear Maral exclaimed "OH – MY – GOSH!" with the elegance of a Lady. Sitting at the bar, almost every day, Anand and Maral have us review the body parts in their language : the mouth ("am"), eyes ("nüdnüüd"), the nose ("khamar"), cheeks ("khatsar")... But you don't admit that you're not very good. Fortunately, they're patient.

Races

Finally, you can take advantage of the morning or the end of the day to explore the village and the surrounding area (you can only walk around). We used to go shopping in the middle of yaks. The village is not very large and the "centre" reaches in a few minutes walk. Between the desert streets, we meet more of these sweet animals than people. Far from being aggressive despite their impressive tile, they graze quietly. After three days we have our little favorite grocery store (There are three in the village). We have increased our efficiency (and inventiveness) in cooking our lunches (groceries that are limited to large living rooms with wooden shelves offer little more than rice, pasta, some canned, eggs, sweet dry cakes, lots of sweet dry cakes, a kind of spread paste and meat in the form of very (too) pink sausages packaged in plastic). And most importantly, We found Rose's. : the only restaurant in the city.

IN ROSE

Let's be clear: "At Rose" is neither the name of this little canteen nor the name of the one who treats everyone. If we gave him this emotional nickname, it's because of the top wooden panel under which we pass to access it. We are unable to attribute even a sonority to the Mongolian characters painted there, on the other hand from the first glance something has jumped our eyes: the beautiful and huge roses that are drawn there. Between us, the place became Rose's, and its owner at the same time.

Rose has a restaurant probably not larger than the majority of living / dining rooms of French households. She has a Velleda painting on which she writes every day what she can cook. She's the one who introduced us to khuusuurs* and to judge by the mountains which she places regularly on the tables Hungry workers, that's his specialty. Of course Rose doesn't speak English. At first, we order by discreetly designating the dishes already served. After a few days, we know how to recognize them on the table: khuusuurs / vegetable broths + sheep / pasta dishes + sheep. Little by little, you end up pushing the frail entrance door with confidence. You know the board you don't have to walk on to avoid getting an ankle. We joyfully greet Rose who laughs every time she sees us coming back (because we do not come back every day, but almost). And we soak with greed our khuusuurs In our broth, like real Mongolians.

* The khuusuurs are our favorite Mongolian dish. These are meat donuts/slippers (usually sheep) simmered with salt, onions, spices and all cooked... In fat (usually sheep). Rich, but so good!

Every noon the wooden tables and old chairs do not fill, we understand why. When sometimes you lack motivation to cook, you quickly succumb to the temptation to come see Rose and eat good hot dishes for a few centimes.

CHAPTER 4 | VOLONTARIAT 3.0

THE DAY AFTER

The days take place at the rhythm of the sun and more watches. There's no more Mondays, Saturdays, Sundays... nor, therefore, Week. We are the day before the snowy episode announced. The day was filled with a bright sunlight. After helping Miiga and his father to carry heavy water cans in their cottage and then in the kitchen to renew the reserves, we take the time to land, sitting on the logs that tomorrow will be cut off. It's very fresh, as usual, but we're well protected under our fleece / downholstery / socks and scarves both of yak hair (we had bought them from the big popular market in Ulaanbaatar). It is only 4:30 p.m. and the sun begins to pass behind the mountains. Nasa spreads the laundry. Everything is calm, his gestures are delicate and bathed in the halo of the last rays. Smoke is slowly escaping from the village chimneys. Here, at this very moment, We feel good without really knowing why. It's curious, the way you remember certain moments. Yet they are sometimes anodized, without apparent importance, but for some unknown reason they are there, engraved in our memory.

We know that we have an hour before dusk ends to icing air more. We're going for a walk. The children want to accompany us but we understand that Miiga their intimate of us « leave alone ». He is made to understand that they can come and that it will be with pleasure, but she makes a gentle sign to go and enjoy our getaway. It's crazy the point of honor this family never "dangers us." Although we're here because they need help, our comfort always seems to have to pass before theirs. This feeling has often been repeated in Mongolia. We send a sign to the children who are climbed to the gates to watch us leave and we step away. Part of the village is already in the shade but on the other side of the lake, Taiga redness under the heat of the last rays. The breath of the animals forms small volutes of steam in the icy fields. Although we've been here for several days already, the contrasts and beauty of this place grab us, again. The sky is so clear that we lose hope that tomorrow the surrounding area will be completely covered with snow.

We come home: we must warm our yurt story that it does not turn into a freezer. Nasa's coming to help us get out of the fire that we let go of the day. Our stove is quite old and small, maybe a little too full of ashes, But the grandfather has more than one trick under his hat. With a big smile and after several vain attempts, he pulls out a torch. The flames soon took hold. We go out and look with satisfaction at the smoke escaping from our yurt. This simple but so sweet vision is vector of comfort... Unsuspected.

We quickly swallow our meal in the common yurt (it is cold) and then spend time with Maral and Anand. Maxime raises them by turning them around, which makes them laugh. They run everywhere with our portable speaker they love, we make photos, we exchange our shoes (yes...) until after 8pm. It's late for here. We have to go to bed: the duo is recalled by Miiga. We make a hot tea that we take back to our yurt. which is now well warmed.

Around the frying pan, a feast is made as a dessert with the finds of the day (some kind of small cakes rolled a little dry on which you spread the famous spread paste, all roasted on the pan). We spend time talking by the fire, sitting between our socks and other stuff that dries hanging at the Hunnu (the wooden slats on which the roof rests). When we go to bed, we look out again to watch the "storm"... But there's only a slight veil of clouds. Well, while we're waiting for the duvet, it's still very cold: we probably won't have any snow, but we can surely count on the -25° announced.

AND THE BRUN ABANDONNA TAIGA

Morning. 7:00. We open the door of our yurt and instead of brown we are surprised to discover a landscape... All white. Our meteorologists instincts are to be reviewed. The "storm" took place, but in the night: She covered everything in her way.. The wind seems to have blown well: if it left only a few centimetres of white film in exposed places, it also formed large mounds that sometimes happens to us until half-tuckles. In front of our door and around our yurt, we find more than 30cm of fresh snow. The sky is thick grey and you can not see much further than the high barriers. A few flakes still fall a little... Nasa's already out there. With his shovel, he undertook to clear the various passages on the estate: from their cabanne to the great yurt, from our yurt to the great yurt, and then the large entrance gate.

We dress and go to meet him. Snow has that power to turn us into children. Our enthusiasm makes him laugh. Maxime offers him his help but as usual Nasa refuses politely: his excuse today is that he only has one shovel. The closer we go, the more we feel admiration for this man and the work he does every day, all alone... Without ever leaving his smile or his hat. We are certain that if we were to perform such physical tasks (if only to cut this huge amount of wood with the axe every day) we would soon be in a state of curvature, or more, despite the thirty/forty years we have less than him. Our bodies grew up with the comfort of life in Western Europe...

The breakfast is prepared (i.e., grill bread on the fireplace, add spread paste and fill a bowl of yak cheese with blueberry jam; This morning, no pink egg sauces!). In the big yurt, the cold is hot. Much more than usual. On the ceiling, ice formed around the circular opening. Actually looking at it, it even snows inside... Maybe tomorrow we'll have breakfast under stalactites?

Go to the kitchen where we find Miiga who sends us a big smile behind her pot. We want to do the dishes but the sponge is prisoner of the ice that formed in the basin. She asked Nasa to cut more wood. Maxime takes the opportunity to take the shovel and finish her work. The children are well warm and the snow always falls outside: a day on/under the duvets is announced! It's good, because we have news from Davaa. We have been discussing a project with her for a few days. She didn't want to give us a job until she got back, but since she's still stuck in the capital without knowing for how long, today she gives us the green light: the project that she had in mind for a little while to her camp is officially launched Hey! We will take care of the production of its brochure. We have camera and computer, basic software, inspiration and a little experience for writing texts, as well as knowledge in editing / communication: we promise him within a few days a pretty brochure that she can print. She seems enthusiastic. We also have to be able to make ourselves useful.

TELÉTRAVAIL SINCE A YOURT

We spend the day warm and start making a model. At lunchtime, we cook rice using a large pool of snow that our stove ends up melting and boiling. It gives us an idea: tonight, We'll have the luxury of having a hot water toilet in our yurt. Hey! Around 5:00 the night has already fallen. We didn't see the time pass. Miiga knocks on our door: she has the kindness to bring us two huge bowls of big soup pasta. At that time, We are the children and she is Santa Claus. On dévore notre repas assis en tailleur sur notre couette. Comme d’habitude, on fait griller notre pain (rassis) sur notre bon vieux poêle. On trempe le tout, encore et encore, dans le bouillon bien chaud… Et on est biens. Là, à l’autre bout du monde, chez ces inconnus attentionnés à qui nous avons l’opportunité de rendre un petit service, à faire fondre de la neige pour se laver et avec l’impression que du pain rassis trempé dans un bouillon de grosses pâtes est un luxe 4*. A ce moment-là, c’est ce dont on rêvait.

Bonus – L’anecdote du sauna.
Anecdote de voyage n°13 : finir en sous-vêtements dans la neige et dans la nuit par -15°.

Bien trop contents de notre bon repas ce soir-là, des masses de neige qui entourent notre chez nous et de la nouvelle nuit glacée qui s’annonce, on a l’idée brillante de remplir notre poêle de grosses bûches afin de passer une nuit plus chaude que les autres (il fait toujours très froid le matin lorsque nous nous réveillons puisque le feu s’éteint au bout de quelques heures, si nous ne nous levons pas dans la nuit pour l’entretenir).

Comme prévu, la chaleur monte. D’habitude en pull, il commence à faire si doux que pour la première fois depuis longtemps on se retrouve en T-shirt. La chaleur continue de monter. On commence à avoir vraiment chaud. On enlève nos joggings et même nos… Chaussettes ! Ça, ici, ça ne nous était vraiment jamais arrivé. Quelques minutes plus tard, la chaleur devient… Insupportable. Je suis en sous-vêtements sur le lit, le poêle est devenu une vraie usine à chaleur, la yourte est beaucoup trop bien isolée : je suis moite et Maxime qui supporte encore moins la chaleur est en train de fondre. Il ne supporte même plus d’être en contact avec la couette et tourne autour du lit comme un lion en cage (un yak en yourte). Cette fois-ci on peut le dire : le poêle est incandescent et la yourte s’est transformée en véritable… sauna ! Je vois qu’il ne va plus supporter la situation très longtemps et rit déjà à l’idée de ce qu’il va finir par faire. Il ouvre de temps en temps la porte pour tenter de faire redescendre la température, mais ça ne suffit pas. Dès qu’il referme, on a à nouveau l’impression d’être dans un sauna.

Puis ce qui devait arriver arriva : à grandes enjambées, il décide de mettre fin au supplice et se rue sur la porte. En sous-vêtements, il sort et s’enfonce dans la nuit, dans la neige. Et il s’arrête là. Je l’entends respirer à plein poumons avec de grands soupirs de soulagement. Il y reste plusieurs minutes, vêtu d’un boxer entre2flocons sous les étoiles. Je me lève à mon tour et me contente de passer la tête par la porte. On rit de notre erreur de débutants et on profite de l’occasion pour observer le ciel étoilé. Nous n’avons définitivement pas l’art de Nasa pour maîtriser le feu sacré !

Le lendemain se partage entre exploration des rives glacées et travail sur la brochure. Le matin, on a le plaisir d’ouvrir notre porte sur un grand soleil. Sous sa lumière, le sol et les yourtes glacées scintillent. La chaleur des rayons crée de la brume au-dessus du lac. Avant même de prendre le petit-déjeuner, on enfile nos chaussures de rando et on s’aventure dans ce cadre hors du commun. L’air est frais, le paysage est figé. La glace a cristallisé sa beauté.

LA VRAIE EXPÉRIENCE WORKAWAY

Désormais, notre quotidien se divise entre ces temps d’immersion dans la nature, de travail derrière les écrans… Et de jeux avec les enfants. On rédige des textes, travaille sur des photos, cuisine des french crêpes pour la famille (nous avons réussi à trouver ce qu’il faut en fouillant dans notre épicerie), fait des propositions de montage à Davaa… Désormais, nos échanges se font par mails. Et entre deux échanges, le duo malicieux frappe à notre porte pour faire des batailles de boules de neige : « Come ! Just… Two minutes ! ». La fraîcheur des températures ne laisse pas l’occasion à la poudreuse de fondre, et c’est tant mieux.

A la première bataille (de neige), Maral et Anand n’ont pas de gants. Si celui-ci est plus prudent, pour Maral, c’est son tempérament de guerrière qui prend le dessus : elle confectionne frénétiquement des boules qu’elle lance dans de grands éclats de rire sans paraître sensible au froid. Mais au bout de quelques minutes, quand le rythme ralenti, elle regarde ses mains dans une grimace et se met à pleurer en se les frottant. La neige agit comme des morsures et ses doigts doivent être douloureux. J’enlève les miens pour les lui donner. Il en ressort la photo suivante et, à la façon dont elle regarde la paire de gants qu’elle porte désormais, on se demande ce qui la rend la plus heureuse : porter nos affaires ou sentir ses doigts se réchauffer.

Le jour suivant, notre séance matinale de télétravail depuis la yourte est à nouveau interrompue par des coups à la porte : « Who is it ? » (nous savons très bien qui c’est) “- Maraaaal !!” “- Ok, you can open the door!”. Et voilà la porte qui s’ouvre sur une Maral toute fière de nous montrer ses nouveaux gants… En plastique ! Anand la suit de près. Ils passent tous les deux du temps avec nous dans la yourte, ils regardent avec curiosité toutes nos affaires.

Beaucoup de personnes nous demandent s’il n’a pas été dur pour nous de vivre pendant plus d’un an avec « si peu » (juste un sac-à-dos), mais quand on observe Maral et Anand, ce « si peu » semble pourtant transformer notre chambre en caverne d’Ali-Baba à leurs yeux : les chaussures de randonnée, nos divers vêtements dans nos sac-à-dos éventrés, nos chaussettes qui pendent toujours au plafond, l’enceinte qu’ils adorent, les câbles, batteries, notre tente, nos tasses en inox et nos couverts en bambou, notre gourde filtrante, notre nécessaire de toilette…

Ils finissent par vite repérer la pâte à tartiner. Et comme leurs yeux s’illuminent de gourmandise, on leur fait notre spécialité : des tartines grillées au poêle.

On passe un long moment au chaud tous les quatre. La façon dont ces enfants semblent apprécier notre présence nous touche. Et ce sentiment est réciproque. On finit par leur montrer le travail qu’on réalise pour leur maman, qui est presque terminé. Ils rient en se cachant le visage quand on fait des mystères pour leur montrer… Qu’ils apparaissent dans une photo de la brochure. S’en suivra une nouvelle longue bataille puisqu’il faut bien tester ces nouveaux gants et aujourd’hui, on pourra même faire un bonhomme de neige.  

Vers midi on rejoint Miiga. Cette fois-ci elle est avec une amie et ensemble elles fabriquent des pâtes. On prépare le repas du midi avec elles. La chaleur générée par les cuissons réchauffent un peu la pièce, comme ce rayon de soleil qui passe par la fenêtre pour se poser sur elle, alors qu’elle coupe avec application tous ses légumes en fines bandelettes. De son côté, Nasa fait le tour du domaine : la neige a bien fondu. Il coupe du bois, fait les réapprovisionnements. Tout est propre, ordonné. Côté fille, comme côté père, on devine cet amour du travail bien fait.

De notre côté nous avons bien avancé sur la brochure et cette après-midi nous nous offrons une balade plus longue. Nous avons repéré une colline qui surplombe le village et voilà un moment que son ascension nous trotte dans la tête. En chemin nous croisons une famille (deux parents et deux enfants) sur une moto : apparemment notre présence mérite plus d’attention que la façon dont les roues du véhicule chassent de droite à gauche sur le sol glissant de boue et neige. On croise des yaks, toujours. Bien qu’on se soit réellement habitués à ces animaux et qu’on les salue désormais avec assurance (on est à deux doigts du check) notre niveau de sérénité connaît un épisode assez bas lorsque nous devons passer en plein milieu d’un troupeau dense pour rejoindre notre destination. On finit par surmonter l’obstacle, puis par s’éloigner du village en montant la pente.

Au fur et à mesure qu’on s’éloigne on croise des animaux de toutes sortes : petits rongeurs, troupeaux, chiots sauvages et… Un loup ? Lorsque nous atteignons la forêt, le sol blanc est parsemé des épines oranges des conifères. Entre deux troncs, il apparaît comme un mirage. C’est la première et dernière fois que nous le verrons. Nous savons qu’il y en a dans cette région. On atteint finalement le promontoire : le panorama embrasse le lac et la nuée de toits colorés qui se détache des sols immaculés. On s’assoit près des rubans sacrés. Les lumières sont douces… C’est une belle fin de journée. Puis on rentre : ce soir c’est apéro au chaud (nous avons acheté des bières et des chips), au très chaud même… On refait l’erreur du sauna. On envoie la version finale de la brochure à Davaa, et on ouvre une seconde bière pour fêter ça.

CHAPITRE 5 | PARCE-QU’IL FAUT UNE FIN

LE TRAVAIL ACCOMPLI

Énième sortie des toilettes sèches au grand air, passage à la “salle de bain”, petit-déjeuner près de la cheminée sous le dôme qui laisse apparaître le ciel clair… Sans qu’on ne se lasse de tout ça. Plus notre quotidien s’épure, plus nous nous épanouissons. Ce matin, entre deux cuillères de fromage de yak aux myrtilles nous avons le plaisir de recevoir un mail de Davaa : elle a reçu notre brochure et lire qu’elle en semble particulièrement contente nous donne le sourire. En plus de la brochure, lui avons également fourni un ensemble de photos prises lors de notre séjour, qu’elle pourra utiliser pour ses différents supports. Elle nous remercie en nous disant qu’elle n’aurait jamais pu réaliser ce travail seule et on se dit que là est tout l’intérêt de cette chouette expérience : un échange de bons procédés, de services, par le biais de la mise à disposition commune de richesses personnelles (aussi diverses soient-elles : immatérielles, spirituelles, morales… Sûrement plus encore que matérielles).

Elle nous annonce à regret qu’elle ne sait toujours pas dans combien de temps elle pourra revenir ici… Mais nous dit qu’elle va profiter d’être dans la capitale pour faire imprimer ses brochures (elle aurait de toute façon dû faire le déplacement pour cette raison si elle avait été ici). Nous sommes assis à notre petite table de bois et sommes partagés entre le bonheur d’un travail accompli et le regret… De se dire que nous ne pourrons sûrement pas rencontrer Davaa. Nous sommes ici depuis presque une dizaine de jours maintenant : si nous n’avons pas de date de fin précise, nous savons néanmoins que ce sont les dernières journées que nous passons chez cette famille. Bien que notre présence ne semble pas déranger (d’après notre ressenti personnel et les messages de Davaa qui, faisant le relais de ses discussions avec son père, ses enfants et sa sœur, nous confie que notre présence est appréciée au camp) nous ne voulons pas être à la charge de la famille trop longtemps, d’autant que notre “travail” est terminé. Nous considérons qu’ils nous ont déjà apporté plus que ce que nous avons pu leur donner. D’ici un jour, ou deux, le temps de se préparer… Il sera l’heure de partir.

PREMIERE FOIS EN STOP

Aujourd’hui est un jour particulier : sous les premières lueurs, Maxime coupe du bois avec Nasa. Le vieil homme à la casquette est rieur lorsqu’il le voit maladroitement tenter de fendre une bûche. Il lui donne ses techniques secrètes et en bon élève Maxime fini par très bien se débrouiller. Pour rire, il dit à Nasa que ce matin ce sera lui (Nasa) qui ira manger pendant que nous, nous couperons du bois. Aussi, Miiga et son amie démarrent pour la première fois (depuis notre arrivée) le 4×4 familial. Aujourd’hui elles se rendent… A la douche municipale ! Elles nous demandent si on veut se joindre à elles mais nos méthodes d’hygiène « neige fondue + savon solide + pierre d’alun » sont plutôt efficaces et nous suffisent. Par contre, une idée trotte dans nos têtes : peut-être pourraient-elles plutôt nous déposer au niveau du pont en amont du village ?

Ce pont est la seule façon d’accéder à l’autre rive de l’immense lac, cette “autre terre” pleine de mystères qui nous semblait inaccessible jusqu’à maintenant. On leur expose notre projet de faire une brève randonnée pour explorer cet autre côté. Elles sont d’accords. On se prépare un pique-nique, et on embarque tous les quatre dans le 4×4. Toujours d’une grande bienveillance, au lieu de nous déposer au pont, elles le franchissent et nous avancent de trois bons kilomètres sur les pistes gadoueuses. Il faut qu’on insiste pour qu’elles nous déposent afin qu’elles vaquent à leurs occupations.

Plusieurs heures plus tard, après avoir vagabondé dans l’immensité glacée, on rejoint la piste où elles nous ont déposés et décide de tester le stop pour éviter de rentrer après que la nuit soit tombée. On marche là, sans grand espoir, le long de la piste maintenant glacée. Les collines brillent et sont mouchetées du beige et noir des moutons qui grimpent doucement pour profiter des derniers rayons. C’est fou comme les tableaux que peut offrir cette région semblent… suspendus dans le temps. Sur ces réflexions silencieuses un léger vrombissement se fait entendre. Le miracle s’est produit : sur cette piste déserte, une moto arrive et son conducteur s’arrête à notre hauteur. Il nous fait signe de monter comme si c’était quelque chose de naturel. Se retrouver à trois sur sa petite moto + nos deux sacs ne semble pas lui poser problème. On se retrouve en sandwich sur le mince siège de cuir, l’engin dérape dans tous les sens, je m’agrippe fort au deel* de notre conducteur, le paysage défile. Bientôt, on passe à nouveau le pont aux lattes tremblantes. A nouveau, nous gagnons une bonne heure sur notre itinéraire et on rentre à la maison… A moto.

* Le manteau traditionnel mongol.

C’EST L’HEURE DE PARTIR

Nous avons convenu d’un jour de départ avec Davaa. Cette fois-ci, nous ne nous croiserons pas, c’est certain. Tôt le matin, on nettoie notre yourte de fond en comble pour que la famille n’ait rien à faire après notre départ. Ils auront été attentionnés jusqu’au bout : puisque Miiga avait été prévenue de notre dernière nuit, elle nous a fait la surprise de nous préparer des buuz pour le repas du soir. C’était donc pour ça qu’elle restait mystérieuse au sujet de ce qu’elle préparait le matin même dans la cuisine ! Ces gros raviolis farcis de viande puis cuits à la vapeur sont un met particulièrement appréciés en Mongolie. Leur préparation demande du temps et c’est pourquoi ils sont assimilés aux repas de fête. Les enfants s’en sont régalés aussi !

On commence à avoir l’habitude de faire nos sacs. Chaque objet a sa place, chaque vêtement a son compartiment. On finit d’organiser l’ensemble tranquillement. Il est environ 9h quand nous sortons les sacs de notre “chez nous”… Et que nous partons faire le tour du domaine. Tout est toujours aussi paisible. Maxime coupe une dernière fois du bois avec Nasa. On fait un dernier tour dans la grande yourte, un dernier tour dans la cuisine pour voir Miiga, de derniers jeux avec les enfants… Puis tout le monde se rassemble au portail. Des mercis, des adieux, des sourires. Nasa note quelques mots dans notre petit carnet de cuir. On garde le mystère de leur signification pour le moment (de toute façon nous n’avons pas le choix). Nous les ferons traduire plus tard…

A 10h30, nous sommes déjà loin du petit ger camp familial. Nous filons à toute allure dans un Uaz au milieu de la taïga. L’image des chalets colorés et des hautes barrières donnant sur le lac plane dans notre tête tandis que les paysages défilent. Heureusement, la nouvelle personne que nous avons en notre compagnie est assez enjouée et dynamique pour nous permettre de ne pas être trop nostalgiques : elle est assise à côté de notre chauffeur et lorsque régulièrement elle se tourne pour nous parler de ce que nous nous apprêtons à vivre, ses yeux pétillent. Elle s’appelle… Zaya. Mais ça, c’est une autre histoire.

EN RÉSUMÉ | CE QU’ON RETIENT DE CES 10 JOURS DE WORKAWAY EN MONGOLIE

The journey enriches us, immaterially speaking. This sentence is not written just because it's pretty: what we see, what we experience, those qu’on rencontre nous apportent beaucoup. C’est un fait. Mais au fil des voyages cette idée devient comme… Culpabilisante. > Et nous ? Qu’apportons-nous aux pays que nous traversons ? Aux gens que nous rencontrons ? Est-ce qu’il est juste de voyager si ce rapport est à sens unique, tout le temps ?

Ce qui nous intéresse dans le Workaway, c’est de pouvoir égaliser un peu ce rapport. De pouvoir “donner en retour” d’une autre façon que financièrement. Mais aussi (au niveau des relations humaines) : de vivre une expérience plus authentic one or more tourist services rich qu’une aventure en solitaire. En résumé, nous voyons dans le Workaway (et autres types de volontariat) un moyen d’expérimenter / de découvrir un pays différemment en privilégiant les relations humaines. Nous aimons cette sensation non pas d’avoir travel but to have lived quelque part : c’est ce que le Workaway, dans une certaine mesure, rend possible, tout en s’intégrant aux mieux à la population locale. Et surtout : en se rendant utiles.

Bien que nous n’ayons pas pu rencontrer Davaa, c’est ce que nous retenons de cette expérience : le plaisir d’avoir la sensation de faire partie d’une famille, d’avoir ses habitudes dans un endroit auparavant inconnu, de pouvoir aider, même si nous aurions aimé pouvoir encore faire plus. Ce rapport qui se veut d’égal à égal et cette reconnaissance mutuelle sans nécessairement qu’il y ait de notion financière est quelque chose que l’on apprécie.

Pour ce Workaway là, nous avons en plus eu la chance (c’est ce dont nous avions envie) d’expérimenter un mode de vie très différent du nôtre, un quotidien épuré dans un endroit isolé où vivent des gens au mode de vie très différent (il existe aussi des Workaway qui consistent à tenir la réception d’un hôtel dans une métropole, par exemple). Et cette épuration était aussi ce que nous cherchions : c’est un sentiment tout-à-fait personnel mais (comme nous le disions dans ce récit) plus notre quotidien se simplifie / moins on a de choses autour de nous… Mieux nous avons tendance à nous sentir. Se réjouir d’une fumée qui s’échappe de la cheminée, d’avoir de la neige à faire fondre pour faire bouillir son repas, de trouver quelques œufs sur les étagères d’une petite épicerie, de faire couler l’eau avec précaution, de s’asseoir sur un rondin de bois afin d’écouter le silence… Et d’oublier que le temps est sans cesse découpé : en secondes, en heures, en jours, en semaines… En années.

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