Leslie Forman
October 4, 2010 — By Leslie Forman

The Mongolian Ger as a Yanic Symbol

I met Sara in 2004 when she joined Gamma Phi Beta at Cal and became my first little sis.  An architecture major passionate about design and creativity, Sara often joked that the world of architecture had too many phallic symbols and not enough yanic symbols.  I remember her defining yanic as the female equivalent to […]

I met Sara in 2004 when she joined Gamma Phi Beta at Cal and became my first little sis.  An architecture major passionate about design and creativity, Sara often joked that the world of architecture had too many phallic symbols and not enough yanic symbols.  I remember her defining yanic as the female equivalent to phallic, and joking that the stadium stood alone as a prominent example of yanic architecture: round, inviting, and full of activity, with crowds of men paying to get in.

Well, Sara, I have found Mongolia’s most prominent yanic symbol: the ger.

More than half of Mongolia’s population lives in these round houses.  The nomadic population follows the good grass to feed its horses, sheep, cows, and camels, so once or twice a year families disassemble their gers, load them onto trucks, and move.  Ger-building races are a fun pastime, and I hear the quickest teams of two get them up in less than a hour.

I think that the Mongolian ger is a yanic symbol because it is warm, resilient, round, colorful, inviting, adaptable, both traditional and modern, much-needed protection in the bitterly cold winter.

At the center of the ger stands the hearth, a black stove fueled by wood (if it’s available) or dried dung (far more likely, given the number of animals around.  They mix it with jasmine to make it smell better.  One traveler described it as aromatic.)

Our most memorable ger meal: horhok.  While passing through a relatively large village, we bought six kilos of goat meat from a local butcher.  We brought this meat to our ger for the night, and stewed it for an hour with peeled, whole carrots, potatoes, and parsnips.  The boys in my group loved tearing the meat off the bone caveman-style.  The host family’s four-year-old daughter Thalma tore the meat off the bone with carnivorous glee.

Thalma and her brother, whose name started with a B.

After ample servings of horhok, we drank beer and vodka with the men of the house.  They taught us the traditional ways to pass the glass (host first, then oldest to youngest, use your right hand but support it with your left.)  The festivities soon devolved into testosterone-fueled arm wrestling, which I mostly watched.  (Alcohol abuse is perhaps the biggest threat to Mongolia’s future, as NPR’s Louisa Lim reported here.)  A man with a big belly and green shirt was hitting on me, leading to this funny photo.

In the morning we gave gifts: two Mongolian storybooks and a panda toothbrush for Thalma.  She was sooooo happy!  The previous night she had showed me her book collection – an old copy of Vogue in French and a textbook from one of her three older siblings who live and attend school in a nearby village.  Those illustrated little copies of Little Red Riding Hood and Cinderella will be well-loved!

And, in case you were wondering, Mongolia has no lack of phallic symbols.

Above the famous monestary at Kharakhorum…

… sat this statue…

My traveling companions, two British boys who had both been in the army (and thus experienced many communal showers) and an Irish lad, made some cracks about its proportions.  I’ll let you judge for yourself…