Master Polo adventure

MANILA, Philippines — I pointed at a dark cloud ahead of us and asked with a hint of worry, “Are we going that way?” Our guide couldn’t understand English, but he knew that I was nervous. He trotted forward, and nodded with a sly devilish smile.

It was our fourth day traveling by horse in Mongolia, covering about 20 km each day. Our bottoms were sore, backs strained, bodies wounded, and we were terribly missing a long, hot shower. I was wearing the same clothes since the day we started our trek: a thick gray coat over a brown fleece turtleneck sweater, tan cargo pants, hiking boots fresh from the mandatory shopping spree, cotton gloves, and a trusty brown cap.

The rain cloud was getting close.

I jumped off Speedy (I named my horse), and the moment I did, the rain started to pour. I rushed to pull out my rain jacket and stuffed my coat into my bag, saving my Sony camera in time before hopping back on Speedy. By then, we were all drenched. My cotton gloves no longer served their purpose, and they made me feel colder. Without my coat, I was freezing, and the rain soaked heavily through my pants and shoes. I was shivering. My stomach was trembling, and my fingers were turning blue.

“Choo!” I shouted — the Mongolian “go” command for their stallions — and Speedy quickly responded. The rain began to feel like hale as we breezed through everyone, we galloped and glided through one hill, and then another, then another, until we found ourselves at the opposite end of the rain cloud, our company tailing behind us. My raincoat was keeping the water out, but not the cold. I rested my bare hands on the neck of Speedy, using his body heat to keep me warm. But there was no stopping my energetic partner, and we zoomed our way past the rain cloud, up a hill, where the sun started to peek.

I felt the warmth of the sun suddenly embrace my back like a blanket and a cup of hot chocolate during winter, and I turned around to the sight of yet another giant rain cloud over a stoic lake, while the sun penetrated one large beam of light onto the water. The raindrops glittered against the jackets of travelers, and I found myself completely in awe.

“This is probably top three of the most beautiful things I have ever seen,” said Jon Rose, founder of the philanthropic company Waves For Water, who was the reason we were here in the first place.

“You’ve been all around the world though,” I said, addressing the former professional surfer, who has traveled to many breathtaking and remote locations in the world.

“I know,” he replied.

In September 2009, while Jon was aboard a boat off the coast of Sumatra on a surfing trip, he felt a slight shake. Little did he know that the shake was the effect of a 7.6 magnitude earthquake that had destroyed the city of Padang, killing 1,000 and leaving 100,000 homeless. This became his first mission. He braved the debris and rubble, and distributed water filters to the victims and rescuers of the earthquake, providing clean drinking water to those who needed it. Then Waves For Water was born.

The mission is simple: to provide clean water (whether for drinking, cooking, or basic sanitation) to the communities who have no access to it, via portable, easy-to-use filtration systems. Since then, the Waves For Water program has touched over seven million people in more than 27 countries, including the Philippines.

So here I was, for 10 days, one of the six people from around the world who were shepherded together by Jon to travel more than 700 kilometers by car, horse and foot around central Mongolia, with the mission to meet as many nomadic families and provide them with access to clean water. We came across 46 families, there was nothing more satisfying than seeing the locals when we presented them the small tool that would clean their water, that would benefit their health in ways they had never even considered before; even more so when they realized that we were just on vacation — travelers with extra luggage space, not really asking for anything in return. Little boys and girls were awed at the crystal clear water, while their grandmother would tell tales of sicknesses. The men would circle themselves around the filters and discuss the technology while devising a system to make it work for their journeys. Our horsemen, translator and guide, and even our drivers would join in the discussion, captivated by the wonders the simple filter would provide their families.

Jon wasn’t exaggerating or undervaluing what our eyes saw on that hill. It was the opposite end of a pendulum of problems, a realization of James Hilton’s Shangri-La (and suddenly making Frank Capra’s rendition dull). To me, it was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen, but my basis for comparison was not as significant for the man who has been all over the world.

Every day felt like a still from a movie, like a concept art only made possible by the imagination of a painter. We woke up to the break of light melting a thin layer of ice on our gers, while the yaks silhouetted themselves against the sunrise with the morning fog. We had hot coffee to warm our bodies, and steamed dough to fill our stomachs. We rode our horses through forests, hills, mountains, and valleys, while the color spectrum would transition between olive greens to autumn reds. The locals welcomed us every night to fermented milk, fresh mutton, and vegetables, while the horsemen sung their Mongolian poetry as it echoed through the land.

Waves For Water believes strongly in guerrilla humanitarianism while journeying yourself through your passion — Jon always told us to do what we love, and to help people along the way. To me, Mongolia was exactly that.

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For more info, visit wavesforwater.org.