Because I arrived in Mongolia at the beginning of the tourist season, the only people around were a group of 5 Japanese girls, so the camp was very quiet. I had a ger or yurt (Mongolian tent) all to myself! Fantastic!
I passed through the door painted in the style of the little Hobbit and entered a cozy room furnished in the traditional style with painted wooden furniture. On each side of the yurt (can a round thing have sides?) were two box beds; in the back was a dressing table; to one side a small wardrobe, and in the center next to a small table and stools, was the wood stove! I was super excited about this as I LOVE playing with fire and I particularly love the warmth of wood burning stoves, although I did manage to set my cute expensive travel towel on fire the next day which was very annoying. The fire was already roaring merrily, and of course I couldn’t resist adding fuel to hell. After a refreshing shower and some food, I sat in the yurt, wrapped up in the warmth and listened to the fire breathe and crackle, it was all very relaxing. When I walked out the door to see the night sky, everything was silent; only a thin silvery moon and a bright star illuminated the sky. The night air was cool and crisp with the moist fragrance of grasslands and mountains and I could see a small stream of wood smoke coming from the chimney sticking out of the top of my yurt. There was not a sound anywhere. It still was. Peaceful. I went back into the yurt, turned off the light, got into bed, and watched as the flickering flames from the wood stove cast their shadows and danced on the walls. Looking up at the hole in the roof where the chimney disappeared, I could see the moon shining down on me and I felt incredibly lucky and very, very glad to be there.
The next morning was bright and clear with fabulous blue skies and the plan was for Zabloo and I to ride with the shepherd to his family yurt where he would spend that night and most of the next day. We weren’t sure what time it would be as I had to catch our horses first, but at 10am. pony with any evil gleam in his eye! Actually, he was surprisingly obedient (I mean the pony) and we set off at a brisk trot across the grass. The Mongols seem unable to make their horses walk, it’s a fast trot or a gallop (which they do standing up) and that’s it! I don’t mind the gallop, but the trot is done sitting down and I assure you it’s fucking uncomfortable without the sports bra and with a backpack circling on your back. We pushed the horses at a gallop and soon the yurt was in sight. In my mind, I thought we probably looked like the devastating hordes of Genghis Khan (or more correctly, Chinggis Kahn) charging through the fields, but in reality, since there were only three of us, we probably didn’t, but it was exciting nonetheless.
We were greeted by a big, fat, cheerful woman named Tunga and taken to our yurt by the father who had followed us on the modern equivalent of a horse: a small scooter. There were four yurts in total: one for guests, one for men, one for women, and one for the “next door neighbor.” The family I stayed with had something like 700 sheep and goats, 70 horses, 30 cows, 2 yaks, some dogs and a cat. Having dumped our bags into our yurt, we were invited to tea in the main yurt. Well, I have to say, compared to this, my yurt at camp was a palace! I wrote in my journal “It will be a miracle if I survive this without food poisoning!” The floor of the yurt was just mud with a few bits of old linoleum around the edge where the beds and cabinets were. The furniture consisted of two metal beds on either side of the door with a dirty-looking blanket on each and a small mountain of assorted old boots underneath; a “kitchen” with pots and pans, flour sacks, and plastic containers; an altar, several stools, a chair, plastic boats, a goatskin hanging from the ceiling, and large pieces of lamb hanging to dry from a rope strung across the yurt; Scalloped on the walls were all manner of paraphernalia: rope bridles, metal stirrups, blankets, bags, pots, tin lids, and photographs.
We sat around the central wood stove and chatted, with Zabloo translating, while Tunga made tea. The Mongolian’s drink of choice is made from whole milk (straight from the cow), green tea, and salt, and they drink it by the gallon. Let me assure you, it was just as gross and disgusting as it sounds and since I don’t drink milk, it was even more gross and disgusting to me. I took a couple of sips to be polite, tried not to throw up, and put the bowl down again. The next thing that was offered was some sweet crunchy biscuits to dip in the tea and then some bread which Tunga spread with some sort of cottage cheese which he also tasted very milky/creamy. He was absolutely stuffing his face with everything and noisily slurping his tea.
After those treats it was time to feed the goats who were really very cute until I realized that most of them were deformed or sick in some way so they needed feeding. Two had something wrong with their back hooves, so they only used three legs to move while dragging the fourth, and the other little goat looked quite sickly and had green poop hanging from its butt. Tunga seemed oblivious to any of this as he filled the bottles with milk, gathered up the muddy, smelly goats, and began to feed them. Her shirt became the reservoir for splattered milk, poop, mud, and God knows what else. I fed a couple because they were really cute and I felt really sorry for them, but I was careful not to touch them too much in case I got foot-and-mouth or something. Thank goodness she had remembered the antiseptic handwash! All she could think of when she looked at her was, I hope she washes her hands before making lunch. The sky had clouded over a bit and it was quite windy and being a pamby westerner I was getting a bit chilly so they found me a dell (the traditional coat) and a sash to keep me warm. Time to prepare lunch!!
I’m not entirely sure he washed his hands, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt and we got to work making meatballs. While Zabloo finely chopped a large piece of lamb on a not-so-clean cutting board, Tunga heated some water over the fire to wash the pans (hooray!). I’m telling you, you never really appreciate having access to unlimited hot and cold water and electricity until you have to go without. Life is hard without him! He made a dough out of flour and water and then took the finely chopped lamb, added some spices from a packet and some chopped spring onions, mixed it all together, tasted the mixture raw, added a few more herbs, tasted again and pronounced it done. Zabloo and I then rolled out little circles of dough which we filled with meat and then turned into mini Cornish pasties (or at least that’s what they looked like). It was a lot of fun, but I’m sure if I had to do it every day, the novelty would soon wear off. Tunga then heated up some lamb fat and fried the meatballs and I have to say they were absolutely delicious.
Another shepherd appeared, his face like polished mahogany. He didn’t say much, just drank his salty tea and ate some dumplings and then disappeared from the yurt. Two minutes later I heard the sound of a motorcycle that she was trying to start, so Zabloo and I went out to see what was going on and she managed to convince him to let me try it. It was just a little 125cc and having ridden big bikes trying to ride something as small as that is pretty much impossible. I staggered on the grass, trying to avoid the cow/goat/sheep/horse/dog poop and tried unsuccessfully to get the damn thing out of first gear. I don’t think he was very impressed!
Tunga still seemed to be hungry as he had found some old bones with lamb meat on them and had started to cut pieces of dried meat with a knife. She seemed a bit surprised that she wasn’t interested in trying some!
I took a little walk up the hill and back again and then more shepherds showed up with a little baby goat that was tied up inside the yurt (it was so cute!) sucked Then it was time to make dinner which took absolutely years! We really do take our modern conveniences for granted. We actually made noodles! On the way home, I would open the cupboard, take out a package, put the contents in the pan, cook for 3 minutes and bingo, there would be cooked noodles. In Mongolia, you mix flour and water, make a dough, knead it, roll out many large circles of dough, partially cook them on a metal plate over a hot fire (so they look like pita bread), spread thinly with a little oil, stack them together, and then chop them very, very, very, very finely into long, thin pieces. The whole process took over an hour! Then we had to cook more lamb with some potatoes and a carrot and then add the noodles. It was quite tasty, but speaking of starch and carb overload!
After dinner, she was supposed to help milk the cows that had been out on the steppes, but every night she returned alone to be milked. I’m sorry to say I took one look at the process and was a complete coward and backed off faster than you could say, “I’m a celebrity, get me out of here!” And anyway, I didn’t want to risk getting cow foot and mouth disease on top of the goat foot and mouth disease that I had probably gotten that morning. I’ll try most things, but sitting on a three-legged stool, in a dung covered field, pulling on poop encrusted cow udders, really wasn’t on my list of ways to spend the night! My street cred was sinking even lower in their eyes! As I watched the cows come in, a magnificent sight occurred: it was just like the west. At that time, evening dusk was fast approaching and the moon was already in the sky and when I looked up the hill I suddenly saw a long, long line of dots on the horizon. As they got closer, I realized that they were animals that stretched in a line along the entire ridge and were outlined against the evening sky. The shepherds were leading a herd of wild horses to the camp. They galloped down the slope, neighboring mares looking for foals, young stallions challenging each other, manes and tails blowing in the wind. It was a wonderful sight. Then I realized that all the goats and sheep had magically appeared (all 700 of them!) and we were surrounded by hundreds of animals, it was amazing! The herders were separating the horses from the herd and it was fantastic to see them ride their horses and see the true skill they have on horseback.
By now, it was around 9:00 pm and it was still light out and I made my way to our yurt which was now completely surrounded by goats and sheep. Inside, Zabloo had lit the candles (there were no electric lights here!) and the fire was roaring (because I interfered and threw piles of logs when she wasn’t looking) and everything seemed very cozy. We got ready for bed and I fell asleep to the sound of sheep bleating, baby goats crying like little children and, it seemed to me, ALL the animals farting at very regular intervals. I had never realized how flatulent a herd of animals was, it seemed like every 5 seconds an impressive gust of wind would blow up, I felt right at home!
