The Adventure School » Notes from the field: On the edge of the Middle Kingdom

I have just returned from a few days in the grasslands. The weather in Beijing seems to have diffused into a mild smog – I can at least see the sun now.

At university, I took a lot of classes regarding China. Classes on feminist theory in the Qing dynasty, on postcolonial literature in the revolutionary period, on environmental technologies in the Yuan. I dreaded the History of China classes because the professor was a bore. He always insisted on wearing this awful blend of silk and plastic in the form of a waistcoat, and refused to make eye contact with… anyone. My environmental history class, however was another story. My professor was a recent grad from Harvard, who was extremely easy on the eye – I’m glad that I never missed a class.

The North and West borders of China have historically been militarised through agricultural incentives – a strong presence on the borders against Russia and the various Turkic states was maintained by offering soldiers their own plots of land. As the climate and geography paled in comparison to the fertile paddies of the South, new technologies were quickly invented to sustain life on the edge.

From my sojourn to the West, I see that this seems still to be the case. I was pleasantly surprised to see alternative and sustainable technologies used in the most innovative way, harking to those written in my environmental history text book – from solar panelled street lamps, to acres of wind turbines. That is not to say that there was not pollution – the speedy development of cities such as Hohhot and Baotou has its consequences – but the edges of the Middle Kingdom seem to be where these technologies run rife.

We stayed at a sustainable farm, a few hours out of Hohhot. I could see turbines for miles around. My mother, sister and I all bunked in one tent – our hosts, and my father in another. Dinner was outside, with roving chickens and pigs weaving between our feet. We feasted on gargantuan racks of roast lamb, fresh boiled mutton and wild grass and flowers. I drank copious cups of salty milk tea – flavoured with freshly churned butter, fermented milk skin, and toasted millet. I also drank a lot of bai jiu – a transparent liquor distilled from grain – to help the meat go down.

I was already familiar with most Chinese customs – waiting for the host, or guest of honour to sit down first, eating last (on account of my age), standing and maintaining eye contact when toasting. I did, however, learn the Mongol toast which is four fold – to bless the sky, the earth, oneself, and then the person you are toasting with. At a table of ten, where each person toasted each other (anticlockwise, of course), I was soon very giddy – and slept very well that night despite the storm outside.

At the end of the meal, fireworks exploded in the vast expanses of the night sky in honour of the farm’s new guests. We danced around a giant fire pit in the centre of the courtyard to shrill haunting songs sung by one of the workmen. At the end of the night, popular Chinese folk songs were sung in unison.

I woke up early the next morning to raging winds. The weather had turned over night. Mists were rolling over the grasslands as the horses were being corralled back from pasture by men in cowboy hats on motorcycles. The turbines turned menacingly in the background; on my walk around the fields I was constantly accosted by giant emerald crickets and minefields of dung.

The next day was focussed on horse riding. Whilst at boarding school, I spent every Saturday at the stables, riding well trained ponies in dressage competitions. I thought that I’d have no problem. However, the horses up North don’t do dressage. The woman whose horse I was riding was sceptical of my abilities. She squinted when I got onto her first horse and promptly told me to get off. A few minutes later, she brought back a bigger horse. Unsurprising – my hosts are by the large a foot shorter and fifty pounds lighter than me. I accepted this new arrangement and named him Wilbur.

We rode through the fields up into the forest of wind turbines. Up close, they towered over my head. Note – do not to get too close to the powerful rotating blades – it’s a sure fire way to lost a limb. Riding horses here is nothing like back at the Amersham stables. For a start, I’m pretty sure that Wilbur had the equivalent of horse dreadlocks.

In short, Adventurers, Inner Mongolia is a must-go for those that have a taste for good food, fresh air or an interest in sustainable technologies. It is not for the faint of heart. I am quite sure that the lamb my sister called Billy ended up as dinner. Other activities include: rock climbing, pig wrestling, sand dune tobogganing and visiting the many temples they have in the mountains.

For those who prefer a city escape – I recommend Baotou. The New York of Inner Mongolia if you will. All signs are in both Mongolian and Chinese. The police women wear short skirts and thigh high leather boots (Seriously). The hotels have fewer beetles and puddles of horse dung. There are showers.

Until next time, Adventurers, from Korea, where I will be joined by our foreign correspondant!

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