Sunday, June 30th to Monday, July 1st, 2019 - D(r)iving into Nomadic Life on the Mongolian Steppe

When the little yellow bus pulled off the highway and began following one of the many dirt roads that lay ahead, I knew that this was going to be a special experience. We were only 35 miles south of the Mongolian capital, Ulaanbaatar, but it felt like a lifetime away. 

Nadine and I had joined a group of 14 other travelers, a tour run by Intrepid, to encounter the 'wilds' of Mongolia and this was our immersion. We were following the car of our local guide, Timur, for the next few days. As if our little bus didn't have enough of a challenge on the dirt road, I knew that I was really in for a treat when a short while later we pulled of the track and headed across the untrammeled grass.

This was the nomadic ger settlement, about 40 miles south of Ulaanbaatar, that would be our home for the night.

Our host was a horse trainer, Lkhagvaa (pronounced Laagwa), and his wife, Tuya. They are nomads, two of 750,000 to 1,200,000 who still live a traditional life in Mongolia. This collection of gers (pronounced 'gair') housed our host and his wife, his sister and several other men, women and children. There was another man and his wife living further to the right. I never did quite sort out who belonged to who, other than Lkhagvaa and Tuya. It appeared their children had grown.

One of the gers in the encampment

Doors to the gers were low. I knocked my head a number of times negotiating similar portals the week we traveled around the Gobi. I saw other guests with bandages on their heads, so I figured I wasn't alone. It is courteous to enter without stepping on the threshold - it is seen as representing the neck of the house holder!

Lkhagvaa, our host, wearing a traditional deel (pronounced 'dell'). Beautiful eyes.

We were invited into our host's ger upon arrival. In spite of there being sixteen of us, two guides, plus the host and his wife, all of us were able to fit with relative comfort into this lovely, cozy, round space and seats appeared as if by magic.

Snack upon arrival

Hospitality in most lands demands that food and drink and drink be offered. This was no exception. The hospitality of Mongolians is legendary - basically if you show up to a ger, you are invited in, fed and can expect to spend the night sleeping on the floor if need be. It makes sense in a land where you could die in the winter if you are left outside. This food was just a snack to tide us over until we got to lunch. Custom has it that one just chit chats a while before really getting down to the business of the day.

The two central pillars of the ger

We had been provided a number of do's and don'ts for this experience, one of which was to make sure one didn't pass between these two central supporting pillars. This made sense to me, as I imagine bad stuff happens if you knock one over, not to mention that it's also close to the stove. In case you want to do your homework in preparation for visiting in a ger (or yurt) in the future, here's a link with more of the rules  http://www.mongolia-travel-and-tours.com/yurt-rules-mongolia.html

Lunch is served on a cloth on the wooden floor.

After a stretch of legs and a visit to the newly dug latrine (which was well appointed with both a seat AND toilet paper, mind you!), it was time for a true nomadic lunch.  Another of the rules told us that it is rude to refuse offerings of food. When I saw this collection of offal that constituted lunch, I was glad that my mother had prepared some of them when we were kids, so it wasn't a total freak out for me. The fact that they were served cold didn't help, though.

My selections. L-R: tomatoes, sheep liver, tuna salad, heart, tripe, kidney, blood pudding, lung, more tuna salad, cucumber

The salads were not traditional foods. Agriculture was only developed here in the 1950's so I was glad for this recent turn of events that allowed me to have the cucumber, tomato and tuna salad on my plate. I tried everything. I didn't care much for the lung - very spongy. The tripe was better than my mother's had ever been! But the blood pudding didn't make it past just a taste.

Tuya and Lkhagvaa

After lunch had been served and cleared by the women, we were able to meet Tuya. We didn't get as much of a chance to chat with her, as plans had us leaving for an outing before long. The cell phone stayed pretty busy while we were there. Lkhagvaa told us it is very helpful for finding lost animals. He said in that past one would have to ride around to neighbors to see if they had noticed a stray. He said it could take quite a long time, whereas now they can just pick up the phone to check. On the other hand, he said that people had enjoyed the chance for a journey and it sounded as if there was nostalgia for that adventure and face-to-face contact that had been part of looking for missing stock.

Both Lkhagvaa and his neighbor (seen here) had motorbikes 

Lkhagvaa was not so happy about seeing people using motorbikes to herd their flocks. He didn't explain why, but I imagine the noise and the possibility of running out of gas make them less desirable than horses. Nadine recalls that he said travel on bikes rendered the land more remote, less close up and less authentic. This is supported by Tim Cope, who wrote On the Trail of Genghhis Kahn, who speaks of a type of symbiosis that can occur between rider and horse which would be lost with the mechanical bike.

After our outing, it was time to prepare our dinner - authentic Mongolian barbecue.  First the gentleman who was in charge of this, had to find the rocks that had been heating in the fire. I'm not sure what the fuel was - it could have been wood, bone, dung or coal. 

After carefully knocking the ash off each stone, our chef carefully mixed with them with the mutton that had been butchered earlier in the day. The women added onions and salt into the large container, which was then covered, sealed and left for an hour, back on the stove. The stones distributed the heat through the mass to ensure it would cook well.

The food was served to people in the order of their age - oldest first. Apparently there are traditions that determine who gets which cut of meat. I'd love to tell you it was the most delicious meal of the trip, but to be quite honest, although it smelled great and had a decent flavor, it was so tough, it was almost impossible to get off the bone. One's hands became very greasy and we were advised to drink lots of hot water to wash down the fat! With some roasted veggies and salad, it made a meal that filled us, but I was happy to learn this would be the only time we would be eating the 'real deal'. As I saw on one website, traditional Mongolian food is not winning gourmet awards!

After dinner, the light was getting low, but there were still tasks ahead for these hard working people. It was milking time. The women paired up the calves with their mothers and after the calves had fed,  they hobbled the mother and took the remaining milk.

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It was a very efficient operation, but notice how warmly dressed the women are in this summer weather. Can you imagine this task in the depths of the Mongolian winter, where -20 degrees Fahrenheit might be normal? I imagine the warmth from the cows would be appreciated then.  Keep in mind, historians believe that this practice has been happening in Mongolia since 3000 BC!

In no time at all, the milk was on the stove being processed to make a variety of different things. The scooping apparently helps the fat globules float to the top. After about ten minutes of this, it was left on the stove overnight. The creamy top, called orom, is scooped off the next day and used as fresh cream which was offered with Mongolian 'donuts' or boortsog. This cream might also be turned into butter. The remaining milk might be turned into yogurt (tarag), cheese called byaslag, and can also be dried to make a sweetish, salty cheese product called aaruul. Nothing is wasted!



Chores are done, the sun sets, but the day is not quite finished yet.

When the vodka was produced, it was presented in ceremonial style also. Again, the order of service was based on age from old to young. I was saddened by their accuracy of recognizing that hierarchy - I would have loved them to skip over me for someone younger first! One had to take a drop on one's fingers to be flicked several times - left, right and center. This ritual followed acceptance of the cup with the open palms of both hands. We drank in the same spirit of those sharing the cup during Christian communion - in the hope that the alcohol killed germs! After the first round, the singing began. I relished in this age old, pre-TV custom, which had been a treasured memory of my childhood camping days around a communal fire. It was hard for our Western group to find melodic songs that everyone knew and could sing musically. The Mongolians had no problem finding songs that they all knew - very often about their mothers or horses, and they had beautiful voices.

Finally, the task of finding space on the floor of two gers for the 16 of us had arrived. I have to say, it was not easy, but eventually everyone found a spot for their sleeping mat and most of us had our feet pointed to the door of the ger, which is another one of the customs, before nestling into our sleeping bags for the night. You might also be interested in knowing that it was not just us - 1/2 of us were actually sharing the same ger as our hosts, who were inhabiting their bed just a few feet away from my spot on the floor. It was quite delightful to hear them chatting for a while - I would have loved to understand how that conversation was going! It also felt a little weird.

Morning arrived with a cloudy dance over the hills. So beautiful and serene. The night trip to the bathroom had also provided a most spectacular view of the night sky. I wanted to grab it and keep it in a bottle to take home with me. I find it sad that our world prevents us from being reminded of this nightly natural splendor.

Of course, the morning brought chores. Milking again - this time an errant calf had to be chased down! The calf won!

I was curious to see that the neighbor - who our guide called 'tall, dark and handsome' - was milking his cows. When I inquired about it, I was told this was because his wife was in town.

Nadine and I were pleased when he joined us for photos in his traditional dress. We agreed that he was very handsome!

This was the land I had come to see. Its beauty was as breathtaking as I had imagined and yes, people really DID still live like this - timelessly. They had cell phones, solar power, motorbikes, cars and houses in town, so I did not see impoverishment. I had learned that it is a land of no fences, because the state owns the land for nomadic use. They need no one's permission to pitch their ger.  Moving flocks into someone else's territory sounded as if it might be more difficult, but can be done. Lkhagvaa had moved his herd 500 miles to the west several years ago to avoid problems from a bad winter. Because they have no salary and own no property, other than their herd, here are no taxes to be paid. My internet research was not clear about taxation on the basis of herd size - but would you like to be the tax-man tracking that number? Lots of hiding places, no doubt. Clearly it is not an easy life, but I can only imagine the spiritual satisfaction from their degree of self-reliance and sustainability, the connection to the animals and the land and the deep integrity of the lifestyle must have enormous reward. This has a been a marvelous introduction.