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Tuvan Adventures of an American Khoomeigie

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On a hot Summer day in Central Asia, participants of the 5th quinquennial Khoomei Symposium, an international gathering of Scientists, Historians, Anthropologists, Physicians and throat singers or Khoomeigee (hoo-may-jee), have just convened on the main street of the Capital of Tuva, Kyzyl for the Shaman blessing of the Symposium. Groups of elaborately adorned priests and priestesses burn offerings on raised wooden platforms placed in the middle of the street and begin to dance. Their tattered costumes of long strands fan out as they spin and dance under tall feather headdresses, bells clanging as they beat their massive frame drums imploring the spirits to bless the country's most revered festival. In a gesture as to say "nothing that happens on Earth does no begin in the Spirit world" All of the finalists of the Throat Singing competition are lined up from all regions of Tuva and beyond. Japan, Finland, Mongolia, and the sole participant of the United States, Enrique Ugalde, all in brilliant silken colors of the traditional costumes. As the sacred dance continues every participant bows in reverence of the shamanic prayer. A few words are said welcoming all singers from around the world to Tuva and the Symposium.

Then there is a procession from the street onto a long red carpet that leads to the Buddhist Mani prayer wheel housed in a beautiful gazebo shrine in the center ....plaza.. of ..Kyzyl..... The American is the last Khoomeigee down the carpet. He savors each step on this path as in a lucid dream. The bright red carpet barricaded on both sides is brimming with adoring Tuvans reaching out with encouragement. He reaches the prayer wheel brightly painted red and gold inscribed with Buddhist mantras, this large cylindrical wheel which tolls a bell once around must be rung thrice before heading up to the Victor Kok-ool National Music and Drama Theater where the Gala concert and award ceremony of the Throat Singing competition will take place. After this spinning vision three times surveying the crowded plaza blurred colors of the sky melding with vibrant cheers of the people and the massive white theater, the largest building in Tuva. He steps off the platform and continues on the red carpet, which leads up the stairs to the theater entrance where there is stationed, a beautiful old Shaman woman anointing each Khoomeigee with sacred milk thrown from her nine-eyed spoon. The final blessing before entering what feels like the very heart of Tuvan culture.

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This on the end of an epic six week excursion of Tuva, a small independent Republic of the Russian Federation that borders Western Mongolia to the North and the culmination of a life experience that could only be described as a fairy tale, began over 10,000 miles away in Portland, Oregon. Recording and ritual performance artist SORIAH aka Enrique Ugalde having studied for three years with Tuva’s most revered singers, Chirgilchin made the arduous six day journey half way around the world, flew from Portland to Seattle, to Vancouver, to Beijing and then because of flight cancellations, redirected to Moscow, then Krasnoyarsk and finally into Kyzyl, Tuva. When traveling to Tuva, one never actually believes that they will reach this hidden and remote “Shangri-la” in the Center of Asia. Even most Russians are unaware of its existence.

Though once one arrives, the land and the people open up with unmatched hospitality.

The strewn grassy landscapes horizoned by tall forested mountain ranges and vast skies peppered with large, circling hawks locally called “Teldigen”, all hearken a call of ancestral antiquity. Not much has changed in Tuva for centuries. There are no fences. The Tuvan culture is nomadic, save for a few villages scattered throughout the natural landscape and the Capital which is home to half the population of the country’s 300,000. In Tuva, it’s not difficult to find entire landscapes from horizon to horizon untouched by humanity. One gets the strong feeling of harmony with this planet without mankind’s desire to conquer the beautiful and pastoral scenes the world has to offer like ones kept pristine in Tuva.

Tuvans who retain their rural existence live in yurts and herd livestock, moving from place to place as the herd needs or as the season dictates.

The warmth of the Tuvan people is remarkable. They dote on visitors to their homes as if they are family, generously offering all they have, which usually entails large, carved wooden platters of fresh (really fresh) sheep meat, milkened black tea, fermented vodka made from cow’s milk and song. Their prowess with nature is astounding. They’ve maintained their ways for millennia with limited resources by Western standards. Each Tuvan is an expert horseman, woodsman, herder, butcher, yurt builder and each gifted with a sense of humor that sustains them through the extreme temperature shifts from icy long winters to blisteringly hot summers.

A few days of getting settled in an apartment in Kyzyl, and a special lesson with one of Tuva’s most famous throat singers Vladimir Ouidupaa who created the Ouidupaa style of Khoomei known the world over. With two companions, Michael from Texas and Bo from the Netherlands they travel North to a remote valley of the Bii- Khem region of Tuva for a week’s study with one of Tuva’s most beloved and decorated Khoomeigee, Aldan-ool Sevek. This man carries the highest distinction of the throat singing world, the title of “Khoomeigee of the People of the ....Republic.. of ..Tuva....”. This small weathered man carries the heart of Tuva through his booming voice. He is known for his distinctive Khoomei style known as Kargyraa. It is a low, rumbling, guttural technique mostly associated with the Buddhist Gyuto monks of ....Tibet..... Tuvan Kargyraa differs form the Tibetan throat singing style “Gyuke”in that it contains very sweet and simple folk melodies in the overtones defining it as uniquely Tuvan. After a week of living in a Yurt and dining on freshly butchered sheep, late night singing marathons, and a spiritual battle that came in the form of a harsh flu and fever they left Bii-Khem and returned to Kyzyl.

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We spent a week of city living, which in Kyzyl means going to the Russian style markets, bazaars, sightseeing, learning the Tuvan language from Valentina Suzukei, Tuva’s leading ethnomusicologist, which we learned, has it’s traces in Turkic and visiting friends. But mostly, we passed the days in Aldar Tamdyn’s artisan instrument making workshop. Aldar Tamdyn, a true master of the ancient tradition of wood, knife and hide and a member of the group Chirgilchin, is Tuva’s most famous and revered traditional instrument maker. He is also one of the country’s most proficient speakers of English, our teacher and our host. We lent our novice hands sanding and carving a few of the many instrument orders he has from all manner of Tuvan musicians. He was a very busy man, especially with the Khoomei Symposium imminent.

Aldar’s workshop is situated in the back courtyard of what used to be the ....Tuvan.. ..National.. ..Anthropological.. ..Museum..... This courtyard contains remnants from the old museum including a Soviet era canon, a large discarded stone head statue of Lenin and dozens of ancient carved stone markers that were found scattered across the remote valleys and steppes of the countryside. These markers that slightly resemble those on ..Easter Island.. are centuries old and vary from obelisk like shapes with ancient markings inscriptions to human shapes of mustached men holding chalices. It is believed that these stones contain the spirits of the Tuvan ancestors.

Aldar’s shop is also adjacent to the office of the High Shaman of Tuva, Kenin Lopsang.

One would easily find this ninety year old man walking with his cane through the courtyard. He is well known for his libido which he exudes proudly and with humor wearing a necklace adorned with small hand crafted brass phalluses around his neck. Accounts are that he still enjoys sex from time to time. He is also known for his kindness and generosity as well as his ability to smite anyone who is disrespectful or who is possessed by demons or malicious spirits. He is a man that can see right through one’s self illusion and dispel it in their face.

 When we first arrived to Aldar’s shop, he urged us to make an offering to “Bashke”, which is Kenin Lopsang’s title. It means “teacher”. It would be necessary to ask permission for our presence there. He suggested going to the market and buying some milk and a bottle of ....Cognac..... These offering are usually traded among shamen for favors. We immediately did as he asked. On the way back to the shop, there was a sidewalk vendor selling small plastic cups of fresh strawberries. I decided to buy a large cup of them to sweeten the offering.

Nervously, we knocked on his office door. He emerged as if we had disturbed his nap. We humbly gave our offerings and introduced ourselves. I gave him the strawberries and urged him to eat them himself. He was very gracious and exclaimed, “Thank you very much. I was very hungry.”

He then gave me an inquisitive look, paused then belted a hearty laugh. “DREN! DREN! DREN!” he exclaimed.

I had no idea what he meant. I humbly thanked him, and we returned to the shop. I’d related to Aldar and the other artisans what he’d said.

They all erupted with laughter. “Dren in Tuvan is a dirty word. It means like hard erection.”, Aldar clarified.

I thought about it for a while and decided from the number of ways to construe Bashke’s reaction and the spirit in which it was relayed, that his advice was to live life erect and without hesitation, to ride the horse hard into the world. Actually, whether it was advice or if that’s what he recognized in me already, I’m not entirely sure. It was affirming in any case. From then on every time I saw him whether in the courtyard or in the streets of Kyzyl, he would squint to get a good look at me then howl, “OOOOH, DREN! DREN! DREN!”

 After that time, we headed into the country to participate in a festival called “Spartakia”. It was an outdoor festival for all of Tuva’s musicians from all regions where they competed in humorous sporting and cultural activities such as relay obstacle courses, tug of war and the music competition. It was liken to a jamboree where there were regional teams with uniforms and banners. I was selected to participate in the music competition. This would be my first performance in front of a large Tuvan crowd. I decided to sing a version of American Throat Singer, Baby Gramps’ cover of “Cape Cod Girls”, a ramshackle old sea shanty and mix it up with traditional Khoomei. At first, the crowd was a bit confused by the words and shocked that an American could throat sing, but when I injected the traditional Tuvan melodies, they responded with cheers. The festival culminated with a tradition of a massive bonfire, the swarming sparks flying high as to become the stars themselves.

We headed back to Kyzyl for a few days and then departed to study with an old Khoomeigee named Zhenya Oluun. We hired a car to take us and a small family to a remote mountain village where we hopped a bus to drive us to Zhenya’s village. He’s a famous man in Tuva, at least famous enough for the bus driver to drop us directly at his doorstep from only the mention of his name.

Zhenya is a Tuvan with curious physical features. He is Tuvan, that is to say he has the build and facial structure of a Tuvan (which looks very similar to Mongolian), yet he has a fair complexion and strawberry blond hair. Apparently this genetic trait surfaces once every few generations.

Zhenya lives in a small village in a beautiful rain and rainbow soaked valley named AK-TAL in a mountainous region of ..Central Tuva...

He was one of the first touring Tuvan musicians to travel far beyond his homeland. He was a member of the Tuvan Ensemble. The Tuvan Ensemble traveled to Europe, ..China.. and Southeast Asia and ....America..... They are still performing here and there with an ever changing line up.  Zhenya has since retired from the group.

He lives in Ak-Tal with his wife, mother in-law and grandchildren.

He took us into the mountains in his Russian Jeep to find a cabin where we were to study. Though the weather had different plans for us and even with this incredibly built off-road machine, we could not match the mud.

We returned down the mountain and arrived at his friend’s home on a short ridge overlooking a vast wetland.

Sheep

Return to Ak-tal

Back to Kyzyl.

We were invited to work at Ustuu-Khuree, the most sacred of Buddhist temples in all of Tuva. We were given the great honor of helping work crews rebuild this once mightiest of temples, which was all but destroyed by the Soviets in the early thirties. We were to live there for a week amongst the workers, then after to participate in the Ustuu-Khuree World Music Festival in the nearby city of ....Chadanaa.....

This Music festival was started ten years ago by ex-boxer and devout Buddhist, Igor Dulush to raise money and awareness for the decimated temple which over seventy years, still gathers large crowds of faithful followers of the Dalai Lama to its ruins.

Our time at Ustuu- Khuree was enchanting for the most part and a bit confusing as none of the foremen or workers spoke a lick of English. We had only a small phrase book and Tuvan-English dictionary that understandably, left a lot to be desired. In the whole world there might be as many as 20 Westerners who speak Tuvan. I can’t imagine a lot of demand for it.

The pure magic of the temple was overwhelming. Everyday, I would walk three times around the ruins of the Ustuu-Khuree practicing my Khoomei, tracing my finger tips along the walls, making sure to pay extra attention to the corners which over the years had become rounded and smooth. Above the temple high in the sky circled large flocks of Tuvan hawks. The climbed and fell from the strong up drafts and shrilled their blessings down to cover the earth. Once after a hard work day of building fences and digging holes for massive posts, resting after supper, while the temple was empty of parishioners, a massive flock of hawks maybe 60 or so descended onto the altar of the temple. I rushed to get my video camera to capture this amazing event, one that I could never witness in ....America..... Winded, I was able to film, (very shakily) these majestic birds, of whose feathers, I’d been obsessed in collecting. (My hobby when abroad is to collect the feathers of the local birds.) Even though, the country is full of them, they remain extremely elusive. It’s still very rare to come across a full, large “Teldigen” feather. I tried to keep hidden to peer into this scene of nature and this sacred space in occultic conversation. I stayed still and quiet for about five minutes before they all left one by one. I stayed there as the sun went down watching the flock slowly disappear in deep amazement and contemplation. I was blessed that afternoon.

After our time at the temple, we drove through Chadanaa, which is known as the “....Chicago....” of Tuva. It’s famous for being a rough town. People from Chadanna are known to be kind and generous until they’re wronged or more often drunk on Russian Vodka. Then the card turns bloody and all hell breaks loose. Many people are murdered there. A sharp contrast to the serenity of the temple we’d just stayed a week at.

 We were the first to arrive at the Festival grounds. We had to forge the ....Chadanaa.. ..River.... to get to the camp ground. There was no bridge that normal cars and busses could cross, one of our caravan found this out the hard way and had to be towed to the river bank, so the work crew built a bridge out of driftwood logs with axes wielding a stunning skill and precision that would embarrass any ESPN TV Lumber Jack.

Over the next few days, people from all corners of the Earth descended upon the festival.

The Ustuu-Khuree over the years has boasted an eclectic list of International acts from ..Russia.., ..Italy.., ..Finland.., ..Japan.., ....Yakutia.., ..Mongolia.... and the year before me in 2007, even  Sun-Ra participated. There were even whispers that Sun-Ra would return to rock the Tuvans once again. Unfortunately, these rumors were unfounded.

The Usuu-Khuree festival is a typical Tuvan festival in that not only does it have a music competition, but it also celebrates a number of ancient Tuvan cultural traditions, such as, horse racing and wrestling. These activities were carried out in the day time and at night hundreds would converge at the Chadanaa Coliseum where a large festival stage was constructed to watch the endless string of performers, bands, orchestras, shamen and dancers from the world over compete in elimination for three nights.

My first night, I collaborated with my old Tuvan friend Nachun whom I studied with the year prior and is one of Tuva’s most desired instrumentalists. I also played with the only American ex-pat living in Tuva, Sean Quirk. Sean grew up in the ..Midwest.. and is most likely the one to give Chadanna its unfortunate tag “Chicago of Tuva”. Sean has mastered the Tuvan language, has a Tuvan wife and young daughter living in Kyzyl and is the first foreigner to ever be a member of the Tuvan National Orchestra. He also has shockingly sharp sense of humor that disarms just about anyone, even raging drunk Tuvans.

We concocted a cover of Johnny Cash’s “Ghost Riders in the Sky”. This I’m sure was the first time Tuvans, well Tuvans living in Tuva anyway had ever heard of Johnny Cash. Sean and I thought it was a great idea as it was a cowboy song, Tuvans are the Asian Cowboys and it meshed perfectly with a traditional song about a strong horse riding through the dark forests at night, leaving the dense fog twisting as it rode by. Our rendition was a little rough to say the least but it was embraced by the people. They loved it and after I had the distinction of being addressed by some Tuvans as “Yippie Ka Ye”

 The second night, I competed solo. I was fortunate enough to find a friendly Russian couple who had brought a Shruti box to the festival. They were gracious enough to lend it to me for my performance. A Shruti box is an instrument about the size of a small briefcase primarily used in ....India.... as accompaniment for the voice. It’s a drone instrument, an abbreviated version of the harmonium.

I decided that my performance include a bit of “Soriah” style ritual theater. It was also very important for me to express my gratitude to the Tuvan people for inspiring me to follow this path that led me back to them. I chose to perform the Shamanic/ Buddhist tradition of offering milk to the spirits using a “Nine Eyed Spoon”. This spoon is usually an elaborately carved wooden wand with nine divots at the top, which are called the “eyes” of the spoon. Instead of milk, I used white flour with glitter mixed in for a more theatrical effect. For a container, I found a bowl shaped rock on the river bank. I’d had the sound men set up eight microphones in a large circle on the stage and sang the traditional Tuvan prayer song called, “Morguul”. This song has eight phrases separated with long tones of improvised throat singing. The effect was palpable to the Tuvans. The flour and glitter when blown under the bright stage lights hovered and shimmered in the air prompting both awe and confusion from the crowd. After I had finished my eight stationed cycle, I sat in a chair on the stage and with the Shruti box, I sang a number of styles I’d studied over the years and also some I may have created along the way. The Shruti box creates a peaceful tone that works superbly for overtone singing. I felt at peace during the performance being given the opportunity to sing for these people. On the whole, I thought it went well. I felt good about my offering, but I wasn’t quite sure how it was received. A few congratulations were given and on went the night.

 Other performers included Jazz rock groups from ....Moscow...., young Tuvan throat singer groups like Chirgilchin II, the sons of Chirgilchin who are my teachers the youngest member only three years old, various adult throat singing groups and soloists, and then there was the group from Yakutia. An Eastern Siberian group named “Ayar-Khan”, comprised of three stunningly beautiful women immaculately adorned with finely crafted silver breast plates and wolf-fir hats, who were masters at the mouth harp aka Jew’s harp or “Khomus”. They weaved sounds on a level that could only be described as other worldly. They lashed upon the crowd cascading waves of blissful buzzing frequency and rhythm that stunned the crowd.  My Mother ship had landed. It had been years since I’d been turned on to a new form of music that had changed my perspective on sound itself and what is capable with such simple and primitive technology. It was like hearing sound again for the first time.

The next evening brought another long string of performances by the competitors and also held the award ceremony for the music competition. Someone told me that if you are from another country, they’ll give you an award for showing up. Usually something they make up some kind superlative like “Most Original” or “Most Strange”. I expected something like those and was happy to accept them with grace. I saw the list of performers and saw that my time was directly after the award ceremony. The evening progressed slowly until it came to the awards portion. Many awards were given and many superlatives. To my shock, my favorite group Ayar-Khan was given the award for “Most Cosmic”. I thought they should have won the entire competition. This confirmed my concern that I would receive a similar response from the judges. Soon after, they called my name. Well almost my name. The MC of the festival spoke in Russian and I couldn’t understand what he said before and after “Enrique Soriah”. Soriah is the name I’d registered under, but lost in translation and festival bureaucracy they thought my last name was “Soriah”. I came on stage and accepted the framed award for what I had no idea. It was printed in the Russian alphabet, Cyrillic. The crowd cheered and whistled. A bit louder and longer than I expected. I said my thanks to my teachers and the Tuvan people, bowed, prayed my hands together and left the stage. Immediately, I was confronted by a camera crew asking to interview me. It happened so quick I still didn’t know what I’d won. They asked me questions in very broken English like, “Are you satisfied with the festival?” and “Where are you from?” questions that gave me no clue to what just happened.

I was then approached by two women of Ayar-Khan who gave me a private ovation. One of them, a young woman named Olga, spoke and congratulated me in English. I was stunned. I asked her what I’d won. She laughed and relayed my confusion to the other, older matriarch of the group, Bina. They both laughed and then told me that I’d won “Best Foreign Performance”.

I was taken aback. I couldn’t believe it. Me? Out of the tens of foreign performers? I stood amazed. To this day I’m still amazed and gratified.

The winner of the music competition was an American style brass marching band. Well truthfully, they synchronized danced more than marched. They were by far the crowd favorites with their flashy high energy funk and acrobatic trumpet player who feated back flips still holding his horn during his solo.  They’d also won the last few years in a row. Among the other performers there was disappointment by the sweep of this unstoppable band. I on the other hand was stoked and still in disbelief.

My performance was next. I chose to perform my own style of offering in gratitude of my award. I started back stage and preceded very slowly carrying the river stone from the night before and the hawk feather I found after the large convergence of the birds at Ustuu-Khuree. I walked to the front of the stage, held out the stone and feather in front of me and then simultaneously raised the stone and lowered the feather until my arms were fully stretched up and down. Then in a slow and deliberate fashion, I switched places of the stone and feather until the feather topped the stone. I the brought them together, then lay the stone on the ground and retained the feather in my right hand. I sat with the Shruti box, placed my bare feet on the stone and began to play. Filled with a new sense of confidence and purpose, I sang my heart out. I lost time and space in a deep trance exploring sound spectrums and the energetic circuit between myself, the people and the place. It sounds like a long, drawn out experience, but it couldn’t have lasted more than ten minutes. The crowd cheered wildly and I humbly bowed, trying to absorb every last ounce of the moment as much as I could.

The performances continued until one or so in the morning. After, there was a free jam back at the campground on a small stage in the center of the main clearing. I spent most of the night entertaining Ayar-Khan at my campfire, then joined in the onstage jam playing with shockingly adept Russian rock musicians teaching them on the spot a number of songs by G’N’R, Pink Floyd then finally, greeting the sunrise with a brilliant twenty minute jam of “Back in the USSR”. So good! By far one of the greatest nights of my life.

The next morning, a large group of us including Olga and Bina left on a bus back to Kyzyl. We arrived back that afternoon. I said goodbye to my new friend, Olga and gave her the feather I’d found and used for the performance. She gave me a beautiful hand crafted bead and wolf fir woven medallion she’d made herself. Then they were off. Leaving us in a rich glow and swimming with memories of what was an adventure of a life time.

When we returned, there was little time before the Khoomei Symposium. Only five days left to prepare my offering for the main event. The Symposium. The dream I’d had in my head as the great measure of achievement in my life. I told myself for years, ”If  I can just make it to that stage and sing the best I can, I’d die a content man.” At this point, I was still shaky on what exactly I was going to do. By this time every Khoomeigee in Tuva was running around preparing their own songs for the competition. None of my teachers were available. Aldar’s mother had just died that week and was bogged down the long list of instruments to make, including my own that I’d ordered, Igor and Monguun-ool had with almost all other throat singers of Tuva had been sequestered by Kongar-ool, Tuva’s most famous throat singer. He was the Tuvan featured in the Oscar Nominated documentary, “Genghis Blues” and has appeared on various Late Night talk shows over the years. He in his unquenchable thirst for the dramatic had ordered all Tuvan Khoomeigee to his mansion hours form Kyzyl for three days before the Symposium to learn the songs he had prepared for the Symposium and also to create the Guinness Book of World Record’s largest ever group of Tuvan throat singers. Which, if anyone cared at this point, I imagine would have been about twelve.

I was in a tight situation. I checked the National Orchestra building daily for any stray Khoomeigee that was somehow left behind, but to no avail. Finally, Aldar was able to set up a meeting with a young man whose wife had gone to the retreat, but he needed to stay at home with the kids. He was also a student of my teachers and was a member of the Tuvan National Orchestra. I was happy to have him. We had a lesson at the school of music where most of the younger generation of Khoomeigee learned Western music theory and instruments. The music room we used had a large piano under a portrait of an old Tuvan woman. Apparently, she was the teacher of my teachers when they were school boys. The generational significance was certainly not lost on me. I looked to her as an ancestor of the path that had brought me so far. I thanked her out loud in Tuvan. “Chetirdim Bashke!” (Thanks Teach!)

We got down to business and I explained what I was going to do for the competition. He liked what I’d worked out, but informed me that it was incomplete. It needed another verse. My heart dropped. I’d been under the impression that what I prepared was not only sufficient, but that it would dazzle the judges. I’d learned two verses in Tuvan and studied throughout my time in the country, the exact pronunciation of the Tuvan text, which by no means is an easy feat for a Westerner. I find that Tuvan phonetics create a painful tongue knot in the back of the mouth. He told me that I needed to learn the verse for the Kargyraa style.

 The architecture of most traditional Tuvan songs are fairly simple, a verse describing the style of throat singing that will follow in an improvised phrase. The next would describe another and so on.

The translated first verse of the song I would sing goes as follows;

“Whether it will happen or not, I’ll sing Borbang (which is a particular style of Khoomei). I’ll give it to you.

 Female horse or male horse, I’ll take it by lasso. I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it to you”

Most songs are ended with the exclamation “Shu”, or “Shude” which means “Giddy up!” 

The young Khoomeigee was very patient with my questions about the song’s translation and phonetics. Tuvan’s are reluctant to translate the meaning of the words, mostly because the grammar structure is so different from English, it’s very difficult. But, they’re very helpful as far as methodically reviewing the phonetics. There are very subtle quirks that are virtually invisible to foreigners, but are deafeningly apparent to Tuvans. The only way I would do well in the competition, would be to nail the pronunciation. 

 

The day finally came of the competition. I woke up early, took a cold, cold shower. For some reason the municipal government of Kyzyl had turned off the hot water in the entire city.

It was a short walk to the theater, where call time was 10 AM. On my way I was surprised to run into “Bashke”. I’d never seen him outside of the courtyard. I called out to him, “Ekii Bashke!” (Hello Teacher). He turned, gave me a squint of his eyes then cried, “DREN DREN DREN!!!” He came close and continued his chant, while he grabbed my hand and kissed it continuing, “DREN DREN DREN…” I was blown away by his affections and blessings. I continued on to the theater with the highest endorsement I could have imagined.

I entered the theater at 10AM, which was the “scheduled” starting time. Alas, I was the first to show. See, Tuvan time is very much akin to ..Island.. time in that it’s a real challenge to gauge what time events actually happen. Over the course of my time there, I had deciphered Tuvan time to be about an hour and a half behind the actual time. I’d hoped that something so official would be different. I was wrong. I sat in unbearable anticipation for two hours waiting to choose lottery style my placement in the order of the competition. There were over a hundred contestants. Some were ensembles, others small groups and then 86 soloists left.

My name was called and with small applause, I entered the stage to pull a number out of a hat. Auspiciously, I pulled the number 23 which was a great placement as I would have enough time to prepare, but not enough time to torture myself with the anxiety that invariably comes with competition. I sighed in massive relief.

The competition would start at two in the afternoon and continue until ten. Each contestant was limited to a four minute performance, but as always there were those who abused the limit and were asked not so diplomatically to leave the stage.

I was given a dressing room to prepare with the other foreigners from the Altai region, ..Mongolia.., ..Japan.., and ....Finland..... I started to crunch the new lyrics. I was a bit nervous, because the previous night, I’d performed it in front of some friends of Aldar’s from Chadanna and bombed the lyrics. I still had about two hours to go when Aldar urged me not warm up so early before the competition. “Well, how long should I wait?”, feeling a growing ball of frustration grow in my stomach. He said, “Wait till twenty minutes before.” That was a time I could not accept. I decided to wait until a half hour before.

The anxiety at this point was getting intense. I paced around the hallways and stairways of the Theater. Back and forth, down to the basement, up to the top floor for some solitude, then back down again to the dressing room to get dressed in my “Tun”, a traditional red on black silken robe with a bright yellow sash and matching pointy hat, then to the back stage nervously watching while other contestants sang vigorously for their lives in front of the panel of judges they couldn’t possibly see beyond the bright stage lights.

I began to run the lyrics softly aloud over and over with little success. Then, a young boy who witness by bombing the lyrics the night before, approached and helped me with the last verse

“ KARBAP KARBAP CHELIVORAR

KARA BORAM CHORU UNDUGH

KATYRANGNAP CHANGNAP ORAR

KARAM EGHIM CHANGU UNDUGH
CHANGU UNDUGH”

Finally, it was my turn to compete. At this point, I was out of my skin. I walked out onto the stage, sat in a chair in front of a microphone. I politely and nervously thanked the judges for having me in very broken Tuvan.

I closed my eyes for a short eternity. A voice came in my head saying “Just go!” I had a vision of jumping off a high rock into the ocean and how it was worse the longer you wait.

 I jumped full board into the song. I couldn’t see much with the bright stage lights, which actually helped create the illusion of being alone. I dramatically used my arms as if translating with gesture.

When thinking about a performance, it’s difficult to see it objectively. I thought it was just on the line of acceptable, a bit shaky, but the scattered audience cheered me on though out the song until I finished with a mighty “SHUDE!!!” They erupted with applause.

I’d done it! I was finally on the other side of this massive undertaking. Elation washed over me as I bowed and left the stage. I was greeted by some of the other Khoomeigee who vibrantly congratulated me. I thought I’d done sufficient. I had remembered the third verse, which I was very proud of, but nothing to warrant such praise from these masters of the craft. At least that’s what I thought at the time. I returned to the dressing room relieved and amidst the others who were still on the other side of their performance. I felt sorry for them as the rushed around, singing full throttle, nervously pacing around and singing to exhaustion. Even those who still had hours to go before their time were belting out their songs.

The competition went on for hours and didn’t end until well after midnight. By that time I was well drunk.

The next morning, I ran into Valentina Suzukei, one of the judges. She told me that I’d won a prize and warned me to be at my very best for the Gala Award show. She didn’t tell me what exactly I’d won. I’d expected to win a consolation prize, one of those polite superlatives. I’d imagined at the most maybe “Best Foreigner” and at the least the dreaded “Best Try” award that my imagination had concocted. In any case I was elated to hear the news.

That afternoon, after some interviews with AP and the local Tuvan news and a quick performance on a stage that was set up on ....Lenin Street...., I’d decided to prepare early. I got into my Tun and climbed to the top floor of the theater and meditated on the evening. When I returned downstairs, I was met by my friend and wife of my teacher Igor, Aidaas Ma. She informed me that I should be in the parade of Khoomeigee that was happening at that very moment. I rushed outside running in my full performance dress to catch the very last of the parade as it passed the podium stage. In front of me tens of throat singers were walking and on horseback carrying banners of their homeland. A large crowd lined the streets cheering and clapping, waving to the contestants. I entered just in time for the announcers three, in Tuvan, Russian and in English to announce my participation.

 “And here he comes…. Enrique Ugalde from the ....United States of America....!” As a bit of fun, I waved back at crowd American style, the old beauty queen pivot of the wrist with a big smile. This got a laugh from the cheering crowd. I couldn’t help making fun of the grandeur of the scenario.

After the aforementioned shaman ceremony, all the Khoomeigee entered the theater for the Gala Award show. There was great fanfare for the occasion, being the one event every five years where the world’s eye was slightly turned towards the general direction of this forgotten land. A few international media there, Reuters, Associated Press and some Russian reporters covering the event were there.  

The show started with dancing from the National Dance Company and then all of the contestants filtered in through the side doors, through the aisles and up on to the stage. We remained there for hours while they gave out the honored awards. First, they started with the awards for the scientists, then for the doctors, then for the honored Tuvans who helped organize and then finally, the Khoomei awards. I stood there as name after name was called, not understanding a word that was loudly and officially proclaimed, looking around like a child trying to be still.

The stack of awards shrank and shrank until there were only a few left. Most of the throat singers on the stage had received awards, the Japanese, Finish, Mongolians and most of the Tuvans.

I thought, “Wow I couldn’t have done that well.” Soon after, the silky cheese voice of the announcer vocalized the Russian version of the song…

” And the winner is… Enrique Ugalde for the ....United States of America....!!” I was caught off guard as I had no idea what was said other than my name. I bowed with as much humility as one can not knowing what the hell was going on.

“Just absorb now. You’ll find out soon enough. You’ve been given a great honor.” I said to myself as the crowd cheered. They cheered louder and longer than I expected. I was truly touched by their waves and whistles and rhythmic clapping. I turned to the line of judges behind me where an extraordinarily beautiful woman, Miss Kyzyl handed me a framed award with Russian script that I couldn’t read and bouquet of roses. I shook the hands of the eight judges with as much graciousness as I could muster. The room was alive. By this time, I could tell something extraordinary had happened. But what exactly, I couldn’t figure out.

I stepped back in line amongst the others and waited a few minutes until a couple more of the awards were announced. I stealth fully ducked back stage to find anyone who could tell me what I’d won. I found Aldar sitting in a chair. I went up to him. He stood and shook my hand firmly.

“Awesome! Awesome!” he repeated.

“What? What? What did I win??” I asked

“You won third place of EVERYBODY!”

My heart exploded. I couldn’t believe it! ME? 

“No way! Really?” I replied

He then translated what was written on the award. Third place. To this day, I’m still processing what that means. He then informed me that no foreigner has ever placed. Others like Paul Pena won the audience award and the best in the particular Khoomei divisions, but no one has ever placed.

There were three Khoomeigee in front of me were all from the group  The Alash Ensemble. True masters of the art. Ayan Shirizhik won second place.  Ayan-ool Sam  won first and Bady-Dorzhu Ondar won the Grand Prize, a small boxy Russian car decorated with bright ribbons. In years past, the prize would be a horse.

After the awards were given, there was a concert of all the winners.

When my time had come, I couldn’t help but notice the difference in my energy. I was pumped. As I was walking out to the stage, my teacher, and for my money, the best throat singer that ever lived, Ondar Monguun-ool stopped me and gave me a little yurt on a key chain. A good luck fetish. I smiled, thanked him and continued to the stage. I was greeted with loud applause as I entered the stage. Before I started, I joked a bit with the audience proclaiming in Tuvan “Wow It’s hot”.

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See YouTube video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YfeAKC3307k&feature=player_embedded

Concerning Tuva:
Tuva is situated in the goegraphic center of Asia. The Capitol of Tuva, Kyzyl (Kuhzuhl) holds the "Center of Asia" monunent.
 
Tuva borders Western Mongolia to the North and is in South Central Siberia.

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Tuva is the birthplace of a very beautiful and unique type of singing called"Khoomei" (hoomay) or "Tuvan Throat Singing". It's thousands of years old and is inspired by the sounds of Nature. The rivers, mountains, steppe, animals etc as the Tuvans would say, inspired the art of khoomei.


I have been interested in Khoomei for over ten years and have been fortuate enough to have studied with the best "khoomeigie" in the World for the past four years. Namely: Chirgilchin, Vladimir Ouidupaa, Aldan-ool Sivek and a number of other "Masters of Khoomei".
This past June, I traveled to Tuva for the second time to compete in the fifth "International Khoomei Symposium" in Kyzyl, a conference of scientists, anthropologists, doctors and throat singers from all over the World to better understand the phenomenon of Central Asian, Khoomei, as well as hold an international competition of throat singers in the only recognized standard of ranking Throat Singers in the World. Here's the Tuvan National Theater where the competition took place......................................................................................................////////////////////////////////////////////////////...................................................................................................................................................... ..