Wandering With Nomads

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Into the Countryside

Considering that 50% of the population of Mongolia still lead a nomadic life, I was really looking forward to my first venture in the country. 25% are truly nomadic, moving between pastures. The other 25% are semi nomadic, living on the steppes during the summer, and moving their gers (felt huts) to the local village for winter, softies in other words. Not able to survive -30 degC in a felt hut in the middle of a frozen field, what's the world coming to?

A public bus brought me from the current capital to the ancient capital of Ghengis Khan, Kharakhorum, along one of the few 'paved' roads in the country. It's a bit strange that for about a third of the journey, the driver of the little bus actually drove on a dirt track about 20m from the road. I could see the reason when we eventually got back on the road. Far off hills seem green, and the tarmac on this road was put there about 20 years ago and has endured every freezing winter since. The tarmac was in bits and it really was better on the track through the grass.

The main attraction in Kharakorum is the Erdine Zuu Monastery, part of the reason that the Orkhon valley surrounding Kharakhorum is one of Mongolia's two world heritage sites. Strangely, Mongolia is a Tibetan Buddhist country. From their invasions of Tibet, they brought back and embraced the religion. After traveling through Tibet itself, I had to come to Mongolia to see the first picture of the Dali Lhama on my travels. Also, similar to Tibet with destruction at the hands of the Chinese, the Russians were wrecking anything that might not add up to their communist ways around the same time. Of a whole complex that existed in Erdine Zuu, only four of the original buildings remain.

The Mongols have had a reputation through history as some of the fiercest fighters of all time. It's strange that all the monks in the monastery (the oldest about fourteen) seemed to be doing were beating one another up. Playful it was, but as they say, it's bred into them!

Off to the Waterfall

From Kharakorum, the intention was to take a bus towards the Orkhon waterfall, but when I enquired about the bus, there was none. Myself and a Swiss guy (Yannic) that I met on the way there weren't going to let this stand in our way though, and we set off hitching. In a country as rural and spontaneous as Mongolia, hitching is probably the most interesting way of getting around, that is if anything comes along the track (or road as they call it) that you're along.

We got to Khujirt, 50km towards the waterfall on the back of a pick-up truck with a band of local teenagers that were as wild as mountain goats. They didn't speak any English, but the theme was overed and overed: vodka + fighting is bad. With the way the mucked about, I don't think they'd let down the tribes warrior reputation if put up to it! It was interesting when we stopped along the road to visit a local ger. This was my first visit to a proper ger. As the filed inside, the gang of boys were like lambs they sat inside so quietly. They sat on a bed in two rows and there wasn't a word out of any of them. One of them was assigned the duty of distributing airag to the group. Airag is fermented mares milk. They ferment it in a wooden churn inside the door of the ger to give it a little kick. A bowl is offered to each person individually, and whatever amount is drank from it, this is then passed back to the person serving, before being topped up for the next person. Even if you don't want any, you just take it and wet your lips with it, and it's not just foreigners that do this. A bit of a strange taste, but it does grow on you! Back on the road, and the boys were back to normal!

In Khujirt, the next mission was to get to Bat Oltzii. The first problem though, just which of the tracks coming out of town was actually the right road. As it turned out, most of the westward tracks were going the right way, random tracks that people just make as they go. Not so much life on this road, a truck came along after about an hour. He picked us up and we set off. The truck was Russian and  about forty years old (this might even flatter the truck). Starting the truck was done using a winder handle at the front of the engine (see photo). The journey was great. The driver, Golmund was full of life. There were no shortage of breakdowns. One of them, he produced a bottle of vodka, and proceeded to down it. There's not much to crash into in Mongolia! He was drinking it out of the cut off top of a plastic water bottle (see photo). We stopped off into a ger with some of his friends. They produced a bottle of vodka. The bottle lasted about two minutes. Golmund went out of the truck and produced another bottle to replace the nomad's supply. One of the nomads was complaining that he had a dose of dihorrea, but it didn't stop him from downing about 200ml.

We went a little further, and lets say that I saw a sharp rock pointing out of the ground that I don't think Golmund did. As sick as the truck was, this was the death nail. We had to search along the road for a couple of bits of the engine that came off with the jolt! But the brutes that these guys are. We were having a little trouble getting the truck started. Golmund was to sit in the truck while I cranked the handle, and catch the revs on the accelerator as it started. I could barely move the handle, let alone turn it fast enough to make the engine turn over. He got out spun it with one arm. Put to shame!

The views all around were exactly what I had been looking forward to. I hadn't come to Mongolia to see temples or museums. I had come to see nomads and their way of life. Always somewhere in vision were a couple of white dots, nomads gers. Herds of horses, goats and yaks roaming the steppe. Nomadic herdsmen on horseback tending their animals.

Golmund brought us to Bat Oltzii. We arrived late and barged straight in on some of his friends. They say that in Mongolia, every ger serves as a hotel, a restaurant and a pub. Nomadic hospitality is a trait of their tradition. Traditionally, they don't expect money. Hospitality is just what they offer naturally. Unfortunately this can be taken advantage of. We slept in the ger and were off to try to get to the waterfall first thing the next morning.

My original plan was to try and find a nomad and hire him with a couple of horses to take me to the waterfall. After leaving our ger, myself and Yannic found a nice grassy spot to sit and eat some breakfast. No sooner had I taken the first bite out of my piece of bread, than a little girl appeared from behind a fence with her grandmother, holding a flask of tea in her hand. Into their ger we were brought, with the old lady showing us all the food that she had to cook for us. We couldn't put her to cooking for us at 10am in the morning.

In the local shop we enquired about hiring horses to take us to the waterfall. A strange request indeed. Strangers in town without their own horse? We were cauging a bit of a stirr and eventually one woman headed off to see if she could solve our problem. Why not go with 'machine' and hire a horse at the waterfall, we were asked? The deal was done, and the shopkeepers neighbours were hired to bring us. In the meantime, a nomad trotted down the street looking for these foreigners that were in town looking for a horse. He certainly wasn't upset when he heard of the change of plan, but still would have brought us if we wanted. By the time we got into the van that was to bring us to the waterfall, there were already four people in the back, armed with supplies for their 25km road trip.

After a quick stop at a random ger along the route for some refreshments, we made it to the beautiful Orkhon Waterfall. Formed by earthquake and volcanic activities thousands of years ago, the golden autumn colours really completed a beautiful setting. The crew from the van that brought us there were enjoying a picnic with the supplies that they had brought. Very restrained Mongolians, not a drop of vodka in sight. They finally dropped me to the ger where I could hire a couple of horses for a few days to take me into the Naimen Nuur Valley. Yannic was on his way, so from now on, it was just myself and my horse guide: Choka. We agreed a price and a route, I would take three days on a horse trek and then another day to go on to Bat Oltzii on horseback.

Trekking on Horseback

We set off the next morning. As we set off the 'road' got fainter and fainter. My horse was a very quiet, small animal. Choka's horse seemed a little more hot headed. After about three hours, time for our first break. Choka pulled from inside his Dell (traditional Mongolian long coat) a plastic bottle half full of some pink liquid: 'Ruski Vodka' he said. After he had finished that with his host, it was time to move on. First though we each had to drink a bowl of airag to send us on our way. To get into the valley, we had to trek for about four hours over a forested mountain. The poor little horse was really struggling under me, but never refused the task at hand. After seven hours on the horse, I arrived at destination. Considering I had never been on a horse before, the fact that he had trotted and galloped when asked nicely was a miracle.

We got to the top of the valley, and pulled up to one of the two families that live in the valley. The two wild kids provided entertainment for the night. Unusual to get to my most isolated ger yet in Mongolia and find a satellite dish parked outside with a large solar panel. For the night, the children watched a DVD in Korean, I assume not understanding a word. they couldn't get any reception for the tv stations. I'm sure they'll have something to say the next time tv liacence reneway comes along!

Next day was a leisurely stroll around the golden valley. With the arrival of the freezing night time temperatures, the trees were almost all a beautiful golden colour. It really was biting cold when we got to the lakes. The wind swept across the water and considering I had left most of my stuff at the ger, I wasn't going to be hanging about for long. Back to the wild kids for a second night. Like most gers, you certainly won't be going hungry. As strong as they look, it's hard to see where they get any balance in their diet. The food is straightforward: dairy, meat, rice, pasta. And vodka, of course. The 'man of the ger' was a brute. It turned  out that he is a wrestler. I certainly wasn't going to mess with him.

The Fall

The trip from there back to Choka's ger was certainly an interseting one. We crossed the mountain, and just at the bottom met one of the sons from the valley who was riding to Bat Oltzii. We galloped along. Choka had a cheap Chinese bag on his back, and when one if the straps broke, his horse bolted. He took off like a flash, trying to control his animal. He crossed the road track, and with the dip in the ground (one of the tyre tracks) his horse stumbled at full speed and Choka came off. My horse took off full speed as well, but stopped once I got him turned. Choka wasn't moving on the ground. When I got back to him, I could see that he was half sitting up.

He was really in agony and couldn't stand. His first request: vodka. The guy that was riding with us went to a local ger and got a bottle of vodka, along with finding a 'machine' to take him home. We were lucky that we were right at the start of the track that was pretending to be a road, and that we were just back in the populated area. Within minutes a jeep was coming along the road. IT was somehow full of people, in an area that it would seem like you would have to transport people into to fill a car. I made it back to the ger on my horse, where Choka was preparing to go to the hospital in Bat Oltzii. He came back later with a big strap around his waist. Not sure what was fractured, but almost sure something was.

The next morning was interesting. News had spread of Choka's fall. Neighbours streamed in to see how he was. Two old ladies trotted in on horseback. One was barely able to walk, let alone ride a horse. The story was overed. The Chinese bag (if there was any doubt about China in their minds, this had sealed it), the horse bolting and hitting the ground. Choka's brother brought me to Bat Oltzii on the fourth day to complete my horse safari.

Back to the Big City

I stayed the night in the Bat Oltzii 'hotel'. The rate for the room depended on whether you actually wanted to sleep for the night, or listen to the music from the bar blaring into the room. I chose to get a room to sleep in! Next day I set off out the 'road' to Khujert trying to hitch. The first car going my way passed five hours later. He was going to Khjert the next morning, but I could sleep in his ger for the night. We agreed a price for the transport and off we went.

He had a few chores to do. The first was to bring one of his neighbours gers into the town, their migration spot for the winter. Instead of heading back to Bat Oltzii, I was dropped off at their ger. Sometimes you see a track leading into a lonely valley when travelling along the 'main' road. This family lived in just one of these valleys, about 5km into nothing-ness. A cluster of three gers were well hidden away. The rest of the family were amazed to see me. One older man sat beside me. He really couldn't believe that there was someone from 'Irland' sitting beside him. It seemed like he was trying to somehow get it straight in his head why I would be sitting beside him in their ger. He just sat there for about ten minutes shaking his head.

The next morning, my driver had a few more tasks to complete before our departure. First he went off to get one of his friends, returning with a goat tied in the back of the pick-up truck. Within a few minutes, his butcher friend had snipped the main vain to the goats heart, and he was breathing his last. The goat was swiftly cut up and the insides were passed to the women of the family for 'processing'. They washed out the stomach and guts and eventually filled them with the goats blood, a feast would be had that evening! Just one more thing before heading to town. Heading to the forest to cut some trees. The job of a wood stealer is a tricky one. Cutting a tree transports the spirits that are contained within. Many are nervous of even being near this wood, as they could be invaded by any lurking negative spirits. I assume that this is why, just as we were entering town, my driver got out to make sure that the covers were well down on his cargo before driving into the back yard of one of his friends to deliver his loot.

Stuck in Khujert for the night, I was thankful to find a little ger camp by a hot mineral spring. A luxury of a shower seemed extravagent, but since it would be mineral water from a hot spring I gave in! Next morning I was lucky in getting a lift to Kharakorin with a family that was on there way to prey at the holy Erdine Zuu Monastery. I got to Kharakorin in time to catch the micro bus bound for Ulaanbaater. Noon was the scheduled departure time. I got very suspicous when it moved off five minutes early. It turned out that it certainly wasn't going to UB. It circled the small town for over three hours picking up random people with their cargo, almost without exception a 25 liter container of airag. The top of the van was drums of airag plus my backpack. I got back to the capital at about eleven that night after a great adventure in the countryside.