900 kilometers from the Mongolian capital, far in the north makes a call; the one of the ice. In this northern province, Lake Khövsgöl is the main attraction. Raised at an altitude of 1645 meters, the mountains surround it. It is the second largest lake in Mongolia; emerged from the bosoms of the Earth several million years ago. In this masterly venue, The Ice Festival has been held every year since 2002. Lined with trees, – the Taiga opens its doors to us.
On this Saturday, March 2nd 2019, It’s 8:00 a. m. The outside temperature is mild. A light and bearable -10°C. The first rays of the sun caress the frozen Lake-Partially snow-covered. The power of the solar star allows us to glimpse the ephemeral aquatic cracks, trapped in the cold. Creating a whitish underwater canvas. Its surface is smooth. The skating rinks face, life-size, is emerging.
It’s time for us to get started. To the Ice assault.
The birds of chance pushed Tsegmid to meet us. This 80-year-old woman alone illuminates the ice. Dressed in her deel; traditional Mongolian dress, she has the attitude of a queen. A solemn presence in its deel in the colours of the snow. Embroidered with gold threads. A drawing of reins completes the picture. Her felt hat matches her outfit. Her long fur coat enhances the living work. Her boots are in adequacy with her coat, earrings and turquoise ring bring a different note to this uniqueness. The whole thing is just in perfect harmony. Its beauty is breathtaking. Besides, the cold is no longer has any control over my breathing.
The festival takes place on the other side of the lake. We have to go through this cold den. The car is getting hot. We’re going up. Tsegmid sits on my right. Bolor to my left. Chuka and Batouch are at the front. We are embarking on our play of the day: “The Dark Blue Pearl“.
The sound of the tires creaks under the weight of the car; crushing on the icy ground. The sound is harmonious. When all of a sudden. Tsegmid asks for the vehicle to be stopped. She takes her first steps on the lake. We followed her. In turn, my feet touch the ground. My heart is racing. The view is indescribable. The striking spectacle. The mystical feeling. Under my feet 267 meters deep. Of which 4 or more are frozen. Trapped air bubbles, whitish cracks break the turquoise blue decor. I’m sitting down. I would like to be locked in this space. Solidified, fossilized. I’m escaping. When, all of a sudden, a soft and powerful voice breaks the perfect silence. Tsegmid has just started a song. Her guttural voice is liberating. The saving song. The sun caresses her face. The ice cools his feet. Between Earth and Heaven, or should I say between Lake and Heaven, time is fixed. Her vocal cords vibrate… will she end up breaking this crystallized ground?
My whole being is sucked in, absorbed. A tear runs down her face. I’ll never know if it’s emotion or cold. The image is timeless.
She just froze that moment in the ice. For all eternity.
Filled with emotion, we continue on the site…. towards the festival.
Cars park by the lake. The first steps are not easy. This ground slips, the sun’s reverberation is painful. But the overall picture is no less idyllic. Smells mix with colors. Pink contrasts with blue. Barbecue meat skewers and cotton candy make your taste buds tremble. The fire echoes the sun. Both warm the hearts, the bodies.
The street vendors are in a semi-circle, on the ground. This one sells hats. Plenty of furs. Which one to choose for optimal use? This one sells aarul…dried cheese with a salty or sweet taste.
Possibility to acquire a cashmere scarf, new generation deels with hood and integrated pockets, leather bags, sunglasses from Korea, paintings showing the magnificence of the Mongolian landscape in pastel colors… Also, medicinal plants. Of course, Süütei tsai is very important. The thermos strewn on the ground. Hence the steam emanates barely open. Let’s not forget the candy stands for the youngest and the oldest… For all the children and those who still know how to be.
Distraction can be of any kind. Archers, dart shooters, tug-of-war, ice skating, horse rides on makeshift wooden sleds…
The children take turns sliding on the mini ice slide.
In the middle of the stage are ice domes, like igloos, to shelter the drinkers. Just next to it is a podium. Where during the 3 days of celebration singers will follow one another. Will the guttural Mongolian voice be able to overcome the thick layer of ice?
In the middle of the stage are ice domes, like igloos, to shelter the drinkers. Just next to it is a podium. Where during the 3 days of celebration singers will follow one another. Will the guttural Mongolian voice be able to overcome the thick layer of ice?
The atmosphere is friendly, good-natured. The laughter is going well. Mongols like to have fun, at any age; underlining the cultural characteristic of this nation.
This man is an ice skater. He pulls a sled in which his child sleeps peacefully, undisturbed. The latter is pushed by his wife, while sliding and laughing. As for this couple of old souls, they hold hands and move forward with caution. All ages are united.
My eyes don’t know where to look anymore. Deels of all colors flow in. From children to adults to old people. Everyone proudly wears their own. It is a festival of colors: a rainbow of colors.
It’s time to go for a ride on a sled horse. We take our place in this wooden vehicle. Tsengel this breeder will be our guide. Dressed in a fox fur hat. Supplemented with an embroidered ribbon in the colors of his deel. This one is a bright night blue. From a tale of a thousand and one nights.
The softness of his face. Its roundness. His mischievous eyes. He is full of serenity. His inner calm is reflected on his body. A child’s face that looks like a man. It is beautiful. These cheekbones are weakened by the cold. Of a brown pink. The harsh climate did not spare his angel face. By his appearance, his attitude he seems to be one with his environment. Is it a decoy? I like the idea of this uniqueness anyway.
Well settled in the sled, we walk around. A horse ride. Rhythmed by the sound of hooves on the lake. This light and harmonious sound responds to the sound of the two bells positioned on top of a wooden arch-shaped structure. Serving as a hitch. Let yourself be rocked. The feeling of being weightless. There’s only one thing to do: admire the vastness. Under a bright sunshine. In the land of the great blue sky.
In the evening, spirits can be carried from right to left. To the rhythm of improvised dance floor or shamanic representation. We will try to attend the second one.
It’s a demonstration of body energization. In the shamanic world, the spirit of fire prevails as the master. It is a symbol of protection. Offers are brought around this Ovoo-shaped wooden structure, which is set on fire. It is a question of thanking and satisfying the minds that lie at the heart of this element. The fire is intended to be flamboyant, lively and bright. Powerful. The shamans, through their rites, display the role of medium. They feed on the spiritual energy of the flames in order to diffuse it to the souls present. The cult of fire in the night takes on its full meaning and scope.
The shamans, 13 in number, are positioned in a circle, in the middle of the scene a fire is erected. A huge fire on the ice. The smoke spreads slowly into the atmosphere. The stars shine in this dark sky. The scene is surreal. Cars encircle this place. All around. To be able to attend the performance, young and old perched on the roofs of their vehicles. We try to enter the circle…in vain. The drums resound, cries in unison are shouted by the bewitched Mongols. Several renowned shamans are present on this evening. Everyone wants the honor and privilege of participating. I ended up on the roof of an SUV. I can in order to see what’s going on in the arena. Around the fire the dressed shamans come and go to the seated spectators. To the rhythm of the drums, they fan the flames, which take on atypical forms. Everyone will see what they want. I see a phoenix in it. It’s a window into the imagination. It is not an individual shamanic experience. Everyone is there to be energized. Everyone lives the experience in a unique way. Recharge your batteries. Talking with the other world. The one of the spirits. Reason has no place here. No explanation is to be given. You have to be there, see and feel.
In this land, the stronghold of shamanism, magic can only work…
Written by Julie Delzescaux.
