Getting a Bite Out of Life: A Tale from Cold Mongolia

You're Too Old to Spend the Rest of Your Life on the Couch: Let's Adventure!

Photo by Chiara Guercio on Unsplash

I really sank my teeth into this trip

Dear Reader: Those familiar with my work will know this story. This post is for new readers, or if you just want to laugh at me again.

The morning began at 3:30 for me, as it always does. I was in Western Mongolia, the Altai Mountains, late September 2019. If you know anything about Mongolia and the high country, you know that even that early, the nights are incredibly and unforgivably cold.

I woke up to frost lining the inside of my tent. To this point, the Nemo Kunai tent had done a superb job of protecting me from intense wind gusts on a high pass and the curious noses of goats, sheep and cows while doing a home stay on a farm.

It was near the end of five weeks in this extraordinary country. I had three days to ride the hardy native Mongolian horses before moving on to the crown jewel, the Eagle Festival, before I wended my way back home.

There I was, warmly snuggled inside a minus-twenty degree Sonic sleeping bag. The night before there had been a big party held by the guides for all the Westerners on their extended horse ride. I'd picked up a plastic beer cup for my dentures, filled it with water and my toothbrushes and settled the cup next to the tent zipper in case I had a rough night.

Now, in the dark early Mongolian morning, I flipped the switch on my headlamp and located my toothbrush handles.

And lifted a denture popsicle.

while this is a reenactment, this is exactly what I got.

There were my pearly whites encased in a solid block of ice.

Well.

I had three choices. Okay, four, when I stopped laughing so hard. First was get control of my giggles before I made a mess in my sleeping bag.

Second: Stick the denture popsicle into the warmest place in my tent to warm them up: between my thighs.

And IMA NOT GONNA DO THAT.

Third: Pick an arm pit, the second-warmest place in my tent.

And IMA NOT GONNA DO THAT.

Fourth: Wait a while.

Not for dawn or sun. It was too cold for that.

For the Mongolian woman, Khaltmaa, who warmed the mare's milk and boiled the water for coffee for us Westerners. She arrived at 4:30 am, to light the fire in the shed a short distance from my tent.

At 4:30 sharp I donned my warmest down, then scraped through the frost and fog to knock on the shed door. Warm light from the fire was dancing on the walls, throwing warm, welcoming light on the crusty ground.

Khaltmaa let me in, then sat on her stool looking at me expectantly. I had my denture-sicle behind my back and my right hand over my mouth.

I mumbled, "May I have some hot water?"

Remember, no teeth.

There was a long pause.

Then Khaltmaa made a tactical error.

She asked, "What for?"

So I showed her.

She promptly fell off her stool onto the floor, her eyes wide as saucers, as she stared at my glittering grin-in-a-glacier.

If we can’t find this funny, honestly….

I collapsed in laughter, upon which she immediately saw that those teeth needed to get into the gaping hole in my mouth.

Whereupon she leapt up, grabbed my jacket sleeve and pulled me onto the stool next to her.

For the next half-hour, Khaltmaa carefully ladled warm water over the glacier which gripped my grinders, until I was able to safely snap them back into my mouth.

I can’t recall what we talked about. Only that we couldn’t stop laughing.

The private joke and the takeaway

Every time she and I saw each other for the rest of my stay, we collapsed in hilarity again. Nobody else knew the joke but for the other Mongols, for whom tooth loss is normal, and dental plans an abstract idea.

The Eagle Festival was impressive, but nowhere near as funny as that early morning dental disaster.

Khaltmaa had preserved my tattered dignity, but I also learned a very good lesson:

When it's that cold outside, put the dentures into a watertight container inside the sleeping bag before it's another glacier-with-a-grin.

But that’s hardly all.

This is my real takeaway and the real gift.

Too many people bow out of travel late in life for this very reason: what for them could be deeply embarrassing situations which underscore our age. Dentures, diapers, orthotics, special shoes, medications. Lots more.

I beg to differ. In fact, I vehemently disagree.

By the time we’ve passed sixty, we’ve been through enough so that a great deal in life no longer surprises us. If we’re wise, or at least developing wisdom, this kind of thing is minor compared to some of the other pains we’ve experienced.

In fact, travel provides the kind of beginner experience, the juicy newness and utter delight in faceplants that we haven’t had since we were two-foot tall toddlers. Travel is a full-on sheep dip in joy, release, and hilarity.

By the time you’re sixty and older, life has carved a great deal out of you, and placed a great deal in you in return, if we’re willing to do the work. Having to wear something for a leaky plumbing system, having to make accommodations for the fact that we’re no longer the Energizer Bunny and much more are just part of life.

It’s just life. In fact, those of us who do head out are flipping the bird at the boo-birds of ageism telling us we should be home watching reruns of The Lucy Show.

Not on your life. We have a life to live, what’s left of it, and we’re going to make it amazing.

The minor accommodations are nothing to be ashamed of; if anything they’re comedy central. WE get to be comedy central, in fact, and come home with some of the very best stories of our lives.

When I think about how embarrassing it might be for someone to see me with a bubble butt because I want to kayak for four hours and simply can’t hold my water over the water, I remember the first time I wore an adult diaper to head out to see orcas in the San Juans.

That’s another story. Suffice it to say it was damned funny.

I travel these days not just because I love it, but because I’m older. I’m not hamstrung by my ego or limited by the need to look like I have my sh*t together.

You and I are Way Too Old for that Sh*t.

So are we all. The less time we have, the more fun we should be having. We leak, we break easily, we wobble, we lose things, including our minds sometimes, and it’s all good. It’s. All. Good.

Let’s play.

Photo by lucas Favre on Unsplash YEAH. So YOU try to find photos of badass older men and women doing terrific stuff on Unsplash. When you find them, send me a note, willya?

I’ll be writing a lot more about traveling and stories while old(er), and hope to continue to bust any fears you may have about it. There are so many great places to go, things to do that are geared for a slower pace and the needs of grey travelers. Increasingly, there is no excuse to stay home, especially if this is a dream of yours.

If this article tickled your funny bone, please consider

If someone you know is full of excuses and wishes, please consider sharing this, if you think it might give them a different way to think about heading out instead of staying home

Finally, this is how I pay my bills. If you’re getting a bang out of this, value for your time spent, kindly consider throwing some quarters on my deck. I’m dancing as hard as I can, with as much joy as I can muster. Thank you for reading my work.