missing Mongolia....

When I went to pull creamer from the fridge early this morning, for the first cup of coffee, I suddenly had a hankering for rice pudding. Every morning in Mongolia we were served hot bowls of soupy rice pudding. It was actually the only meal I really enjoyed, probably because it tasted familiar, even though it was made with yak milk. One horse station, I think it was HS 4, had raisins in it! We ate quickly, even when it was scalding, because we were in a hurry to make the 7 AM departure gallop. But it definitely fueled the first 35 km. And it made me think of the other things I miss. Mostly I miss the people, the friendships that were formed in 10 days of extreme conditions; extreme fatigue, extreme moments of panic, extreme hilarity and extreme vodka drinking, will last a lifetime. When you sleep, eat, pee with 8 friends in an 30 ft diameter ger ( yurt) you get familiar very fast. Modesty does not exist, nor do judgements. We could all smell ourselves becoming a little rank but could not notice each other. I remember someone told the story of a "lost" t- shirt. Everyone smelled it to identify the owner. We could all smell ourselves but nobody else. This was probably a godsend! I miss the three British "boys" and Brent,  The "Aussie', cussing each other out all the time. Absolutely excellent riders all, they were the most contemptuous of each other, at the same moments they depended on the each others skills to navigate or catch a horse, or just to pass the time! Truly I miss the sarcastic camaraderie. I miss watching Mary Lee's ponytail flying in the breeze ahead of me. The Mongols all loved her helmet attachment, a little Genghis in attitude! There were moments of "one-ness" with my Mongolian pony that I miss. Sometimes we were in a perfect lope, just mile after mile of synchronicity. I do not miss the rapid dismounts when faceplanting in a marmot hole or getting bucked off, but in general, these ponies were extremely tolerant of our whooping on them and giving us their all, galloping for miles and miles. I miss the Mongolian landscape, so incredibly vast. To look for as far as you could see and not see a soul, sometimes not even a creature was humbling. The Mongolians used to worship the sky, called it the Big Blue, as a god, and it makes perfect sense when you are riding under an endless sky of the most perfect blue imaginable. I miss the singleness of purpose, the focus on just riding. It made me aware of every thing I did; my balance; pulling out my GPS; looking at my notes (which got me bucked off); trying to stop a runaway; trying to watch a friend on a runaway; avoiding marmot holes; trying to stretch a muscle and not spook you pony; trying to untangle the extra lead line rein from tired fingers, and a wild mane, so you could whip a tiring pony and not get bucked off. I guess I miss it all (except the mutton stew!).