Excerpts from Ulrike Ottinger's journal
July 13, 1988 Hohhote: Early morning look at the props. They offer me the cardboard props from a Ghengis Khan TV series. At the risk of not finding anything else, I refuse. Authentic old costumes and jewelry can only be had through personal contact to families way out in the grasslands. I hope for the cooperation of local people. The prayer banns are printed on horrible synthetics. I insist upon thin muslin-like material. The property master is a former Lamaist monk and understands immediately what I mean.
July 15, 1988 Arrival in Xi Wu Zhu Mu Qi. We have neither wood nor iron, nor the old carts, wheels or other wooden parts we ordered and were promised 4 months ago. The beautiful old yurts and felt mats I chose at the time have also disappeared. The heavy generator hasn't arrived. But there's worse to come. The local authorities have forbidden us to leave the village or even the guest house where we are staying.
We are waiting.
July 16, 1988 We have a car now, but no gasoline.
August 17, 1988 Film site Altangolo: the grass is not as high as expected, but everything is in bloom. Thousands of edelweiss flowers and the river is at low water. (In the Spring we broke through the ice while crossing with a horse-cart). Unless it rains very heavily we shouldn't have any problems crossing.
There are three large white yurts standing almost exactly on the spot I had chosen for the Princess's summer camp. We are welcomed in the yurts with great hospitality and served mare's milk liquor and fat mutton. The yurt is pleasantly cool because the felt walls are rolled up from about 40 cm above the ground, letting in a cool breeze.
Our Mongolian companion drinks numerous cups of mare's milk liquor. We have to leave him there and travel on with Xu Re Huar, our female lead, to visit neighbours in the widely-scattered yurts and enlist their cooperation. Once again I carefully pace out Altangolo and determine the camera positions.
I find the obo (sacrificial site of piled stones) again easily. It stands on a large round boulder, a natural altar at whose base a spring flows from the roots of an old tree. It is even lovelier in summer than it was in winter. I decide to shoot at this mythical place.
House arrest again. It is hard to tell what is going on. Official visitors are expected for dinner. Before that I give an introductory lecture about the project in the Party hall, standing in front of a red flag. The response is very friendly. I drink three times with everyone. We eat mutton which is cut from the bone with a sharp knife right before our mouths. The two Mongolian Banner chiefs sitting at my left and right cut off the best - that is, the fattiest - pieces for me. Many speeches to friendship and cooperation are made. A very jolly party, rounded off by a family photo.