Inner Mongolia

Lonely Planet had warned me about Inner Mongolia. The scant six page section offered no insight into the people and the sights, and instead advised that travelers head straight into Mongolia, where a real glimpse into the grasslands awaits. Under Han Chinese rule, the culture hasn't exactly been preserved in the autonomous region in China's north. We foraged to Hohhot, the capital city nonetheless, and prepared for a few days of ad hoc, whatever goes traveling. The city of Hohhot has a population of 2 million. Practically empty to Chinese standards. There are expanses of farmland, where the government plants crops distributed to farmers throughout the country who have recently been ordered to plant tress instead of crops in an effort to greenify. There's a couple of temples, a mosque for the significant Muslim community, some terrible fashion emporiums, and all the lamb skewers you can eat. Despite the facade of a deserted ghost town, I loved the laid back feel of the people. I did not realize how much I appreciated wide open spaces before I was removed from the smog and crowds of Beijing.

My friend and I wandered around the old city with not much of a plan, finding ourselves in the late afternoon in front of a Bavarian restaurant called Hans Brauerei that oddly enough served Brazilian barbecue with only two beers on tap. With little else of the city left to see, we decided to get the evening started early with a pint, or two. That night, a request for a restaurant recommendation from our taxi driver brought us to a large scale "touristical" (coined by a friend -who I might add is Dutch and ESL- and stuck ever since) restaurant that features a tacky indoor model version of the grasslands, tables inside makeshift yurts, and girls dressed in Mongolian outfits who sing traditional songs at your table for 10 kuai per rapidfire song. It is in Mongolian custom to toast guests with baijiu, the 'intoxicating' white spirits I've written about. A bottle of baijiu, six dishes, and 3 songs later, I am speaking Mongolian and could give birth to a lamb.

The next day we find ourselves a sketchy tour company operating out of an unmarked white van. A quick prayer for the preservation of my livers, and we jumped in to promises of a famous sand dune four hours from the city. This was the closest thing to the Gobi desert, but felt literally more like a miniature sandbox operated by cash hungry boors. I could actually see within three hundred meters where the sand ended and the highways began. Not quite as alluring as the Gobi, but still have some pictures to show for it.

The following day, the same tour guide took us to the Xilamuren "grassland", which felt more like a ponyland, where you pay foreigner prices for a horse ride and are not allowed to leave the tourist sites to wander into the residential areas. We rented some quads and raced through the grassy fields with them, stopping at a "local's" home for salty yak milk tea and yogurt candies. The grasslands were still premature and would not turn a brilliant green for another month, but surprisingly I am loving how the pictures have turned out!

And that was Inner Mongolia. Will write about Datong and Tsingdao very soon.