What do you think of when you hear the word 'Mongolia'? Perhaps camels, horse riding, the Gobi desert and Genghis Khan... and not much else. Well this was about the limit of my expertise too, when we set out on a five day journey into the Mongolian wilderness.
We arrived in Mongolia's capital, Ulaan Baatar, following a 30 hour train journey from Beijing. With the knowledge that it was only three weeks until Mongolia's summer officially began, we emerged onto the train platform with high hopes. They were shattered instantly as we shivered in a temperature of one degree celsius, as we waited for our hostel pick up. Golden Gobi Guesthouse immediately felt like home, and equally importantly, it had excellent heating. Apart from a brief venture to Sukhbaatar Square, we remained in the warmth of our hostel for the rest of the day, promising ourselves that when it was warmer the next day, we'd be far more active.
We woke the next morning to an Ulaan Baatar covered in a thick layer of snow. This again limited our time outdoors to an unsuccessful attempt to collect train tickets, a shopping trip for warm socks, and an evening meal with friends we'd met on our North Korea tour.
When we met our tour guide Alma, and driver Bazargur, who would be with us for the next five days on the Mongolian steppe, we were instantly at ease. Seven hours of driving on the first day took us 370km to the ancient mongol capital of Karakorum. We stayed the night in a ger camp, where little did we know that having a whole ger to ourselves was in fact a luxury that would not be repeated. We had snowball fights with a three year old Mongolian girl, built a snowman and realised that the so-called 'outhouse' was in fact just a very large hole in the (freezing) ground. Our attempt to help Alma make 'buuz'(Mongolian dumplings) with horse meat, proved that neither Richard or I would ever make good Mongolian chefs.
The next day we were privileged to visit the Erdene Zuu Monastery during a Buddhist ceremony, where we were able to listen to the rhythmical chanting of the monks, before exiting the temple backwards, as per Buddhist custom.
Later we were to drive to a local family, to stay with them in their ger (round tent). This presented two problems. Firstly, the family was nomadic, so they had moved from their last known location on the steppe, and secondly, they had no idea who we were or even that we were coming, which is apparently normal custom in Mongolia. As soon as we arrived we were greeted with biscuits and warm sheep/goat milk tea. The family had around 500 sheep and goats, which kept us entertained with their antics when we went wandering around the fields at dusk. Sitting in the ger after dark, we quickly did the maths and realised that the three beds were not going to be enough for the husband, wife, Alma, Bazagur, Richard and me. Richard and I ended up sharing a single, lumpy bed, and suffice to say, didn't sleep particularly well.
The snow storm the following morning did not deter us from our promised camel ride. When we asked the whereabouts of the camels, we were told that the husband had gone out to catch them. CATCH THEM! I had visions that I would soon be sitting on a wild camel that was galloping off towards the horizon. We were kitted out in full Mongolian garb to brace against the sub zero temperatures, and we were off. I envied my camel's lovely long eyelashes, until soon they were plastered shut with snowflakes. Our guide held the reigns of Richard's camel, and in turn, Richard was given the simple task of holding my camel's reigns. At the first burp of camel bad breath, Richard in a flap let go of my reigns. All I could hear through the pouring snow and screaming wind was the muffled cry of 'oh no...Caasseeyy...'I was hanging on to my camel's hump so hard that its hair was coming out in tufts. Fortunately, our guide came to my rescue and my earlier vision of a wild galloping camel didn't become a reality. Richard, to his credit, is still treading on eggshells around me.
A few hours later we found out that one of the camels had collapsed while being ridden by someone else, due to a combination of weakness and freezing weather. How do you cure a feverish camel? It's simple. You ask your guests if they have any paracetamol, they hand it over, and then you mix up six tablets in water, and force feed the concoction to a grunting, groaning, bellowing, miserable camel.
The next day we made our way to our next nomadic family homestay, driving through horizontal snow and screaming wind. The cows on the road trying desperately to get out of our way looked like they had ice skates on as they tried to manoeuvre off the slippery bitumen. Again the nomadic family were unaware of our impending arrival. This time, the ger was very different. It was poorly insulated, the wind was whipping in, and it looked haphazardly constructed. Animal corpses hung from the wooden scaffolding, and the smell was unpleasant to say the least. We were helping ourselves to sheep/goat milk tea when suddenly, four drunk men from a neighbouring ger rushed in. They were fascinated to see western tourists, and invited us over to their place to share their food. We piled into our car for the drive to their ger, which was not actually neighbouring at all, but seemed miles away. What awaited us was true Mongolian tradition. A goat had been slaughtered half an hour previously, and what was left of its corpse was hanging up inside the ger. The rest of it was in the giant pot that was being proudly presented to Richard and me. We watched each organ being taken out, sliced up and presented to us. With the help of Alma's translation, we learned that we were eating goat intestine, kidney, liver, stomach, blood sausage and 'the bit where waste comes out'...I didn't probe her further, I just closed my eyes and ate. Richard instinctively reached for the bowl of candy on the table, to take the taste away. He popped one in his mouth and instantly looked like he'd eaten poison. The pink sweet wasn't strawberry flavoured at all, it was crab flavoured, and the look on his face was priceless. Back in our homestay ger, and trying to process what had just happened, we were presented with our bed: blankets on the floor. The heat from the stove kept us warm for part of the night, but by the early hours of the morning I'm sure the temperature in the ger was below zero. On my trip to the toilet (I use that word loosely, as the barren steppe offered no hiding place for naked buttocks) in the dark, I came face to face with a huge cow. He wasn't half as startled as me, and I scurried back to the ger as quickly as possible.
We visited Hustai Nuruu National Park to try to spot the wild Przevalskii horses which had been reintroduced to the Mongolian steppe after their near-extinction. We saw a herd of six horses on a hill in the distance, but were unlucky not to see any closer herds. Our final night was spent with a Kazakh family. Again we got lost trying to find their ger camp, but upon arrival, we were greeted with the prettiest scenery yet - snowy rolling hills lined with some of the only trees we'd seen in days. The family had a warm cosy ger, and two young boys: A sweet two year old who liked to hug, and a four year old who liked to hit, kick and punch anything in his sight: his brother, his dogs, and us. The Kazakh wife cooked us 'suivan' for dinner, which is a traditional Mongolian dish of pasta and meat. It was delicious. Her husband played his 'dombra', which is a type of Kazakh guitar. Bed time consisted of sleeping on the floor, next to the hitting and kicking child and his father.
The next day we made our way to our next nomadic family homestay, driving through horizontal snow and screaming wind. The cows on the road trying desperately to get out of our way looked like they had ice skates on as they tried to manoeuvre off the slippery bitumen. Again the nomadic family were unaware of our impending arrival. This time, the ger was very different. It was poorly insulated, the wind was whipping in, and it looked haphazardly constructed. Animal corpses hung from the wooden scaffolding, and the smell was unpleasant to say the least. We were helping ourselves to sheep/goat milk tea when suddenly, four drunk men from a neighbouring ger rushed in. They were fascinated to see western tourists, and invited us over to their place to share their food. We piled into our car for the drive to their ger, which was not actually neighbouring at all, but seemed miles away. What awaited us was true Mongolian tradition. A goat had been slaughtered half an hour previously, and what was left of its corpse was hanging up inside the ger. The rest of it was in the giant pot that was being proudly presented to Richard and me. We watched each organ being taken out, sliced up and presented to us. With the help of Alma's translation, we learned that we were eating goat intestine, kidney, liver, stomach, blood sausage and 'the bit where waste comes out'...I didn't probe her further, I just closed my eyes and ate. Richard instinctively reached for the bowl of candy on the table, to take the taste away. He popped one in his mouth and instantly looked like he'd eaten poison. The pink sweet wasn't strawberry flavoured at all, it was crab flavoured, and the look on his face was priceless. Back in our homestay ger, and trying to process what had just happened, we were presented with our bed: blankets on the floor. The heat from the stove kept us warm for part of the night, but by the early hours of the morning I'm sure the temperature in the ger was below zero. On my trip to the toilet (I use that word loosely, as the barren steppe offered no hiding place for naked buttocks) in the dark, I came face to face with a huge cow. He wasn't half as startled as me, and I scurried back to the ger as quickly as possible.
We visited Hustai Nuruu National Park to try to spot the wild Przevalskii horses which had been reintroduced to the Mongolian steppe after their near-extinction. We saw a herd of six horses on a hill in the distance, but were unlucky not to see any closer herds. Our final night was spent with a Kazakh family. Again we got lost trying to find their ger camp, but upon arrival, we were greeted with the prettiest scenery yet - snowy rolling hills lined with some of the only trees we'd seen in days. The family had a warm cosy ger, and two young boys: A sweet two year old who liked to hug, and a four year old who liked to hit, kick and punch anything in his sight: his brother, his dogs, and us. The Kazakh wife cooked us 'suivan' for dinner, which is a traditional Mongolian dish of pasta and meat. It was delicious. Her husband played his 'dombra', which is a type of Kazakh guitar. Bed time consisted of sleeping on the floor, next to the hitting and kicking child and his father.
Heading back to Ulaan Bataar, we stopped at a giant 40 metre high steel monument of Genghis Khan. An elevator took us to the top and we emerged peering out from the top of his horse's head. We then detoured into Gorkh-Terelj National Park to ride horses, before making the long journey back to our hostel.
Richard and I both easily agree that our five days on the Mongolian steppe was one of the highlights of our trip so far. We learned so much about Mongolian traditions, customs, and lifestyle, and we were welcomed by strangers into their own homes over and over again. We feel privileged to have had this experience, and, now that my hands have finally thawed out, I am able to type this blog post from the comfort of the luxuriously warm Golden Gobi guesthouse.
Such an interesting blog and what an adventure for you, don't know if I would have been able to close my eyes & keep eating all the innards & the part where the waste comes out.
ReplyDelete