It was October 2005. While visiting in Yinchuan, Ninxia, in northern China, I had an unexpected opportunity to travel to Inner Mongolia. The invitation was from Karen, a visiting teacher from Wales whom I had recently met while walking in a local park. Of course I said yes, and in eager anticipation we soon boarded an overnight train for a 9 1/2 -hour ride to Hohhot, the capital and cultural center of Inner Mongolia, where our adventure in riding waves of good luck and bad luck began.
Actually, that is where our bad luck began. The tour guide Karen had arranged for us was nowhere to be found, and neither of us spoke the dialect here. In confusion, we wandered to a sidewalk cafe for tea and dumplings while mulling over our options.
Good luck! I noticed a line of taxis, and we walked among them until we found an English speaker who was able to take us to a tourist office. There we were able to convey that we just wanted to enjoy typical local culture programs. After much bargaining and haggling, we grudgingly agreed to an overpriced offer so we wouldn’t waste the entire day there.
The agent arranged a small car, also overpriced, that took us for an hour over good paved roads then for 20 kilometers over bumpy, dusty, dirt roads to Guyang, where he had reserved an overnight yurt and there was to be a tourist presentation. More bad luck: The presentation was over, and the entertainers were leaving! We sadly mingled among them as they were packing up, when a young man asked if we would like to ride the horses that we were admiring. We eagerly agreed and, with our newfound good luck, passed the afternoon riding through grassland and dry river beds. When we approached a small adobe home tucked into a valley, an elderly lady, with exaggerated pantomimes, invited us in for tea. Served with goat milk and delicious pastries, it was very welcome good luck after the dusty ride and fortified us for our return ride to the yurt.
