The Simple Life in Northern Mongolia

Wednesday 9 June 1999 – Sunday 13 June 1999

We headed out of UB travelling west towards a town called Bulgan.  We were soon to get used to anything between eight and twelve hours of travelling a day given how much ground we wanted to cover in the time we had but with the ever-changing scenery and amazing array of flora and fauna on offer, there was always something to occupy your mind.  The countryside outside UB was relatively flat with wide-open grass plains (steppe) as far as the eye could see.  We soon got used to the sight of white circular felt tents (gers) dotting the landscape, and herd upon herd of cattle, sheep, goats and yak grazing on the land.  Most Mongolians still remain nomadic, living off the land and moving from place to place with their livestock in search of better pasture.  Their way of life is simple and laidback, but also physically demanding and full of hardship.  The Mongolians are an eminently curious people, and wherever we pitched our tent, we were guaranteed a visit from several of the “locals” even if we were miles from the nearest ger. 

On our first evening, as dusk fell and as we were clearing away our dinner, several young men rode by on their horses, dismounted and took seats on the ground.  They pulled out their scraps of newspaper and tobacco pouches in order to roll cigarettes as they watched these strange foreigners going about their business (including us taking a wash whenever we could find a suitable lake or stream) .  When Miga and Damdensuuren (our driver) were around, they would usually engage them in conversation figuring out what the weather would be like the next day, what the best route to our next stop would be and presumably picking up on any local gossip.  Our visitors would always ask questions about us:  where we had come from, what we were doing, where we were going.  When Miga was not around to translate, they would simply sit and watch, drinking tea with us and sharing our biscuits.  Providing such “hospitality” was at times a chore; Eric refused to make tea for any would-be visitors after a while, insisting that it encouraged them to stay indefinitely (and complaining that he already made enough for Pippa) but we realised it is simply part of their culture to drop in and join the party.

After three bone-crunching days, we arrived at the first major stop on our sightseeing trail, Khovsgol Nuur.  En route, Eric had sampled his first bowl of Mongolian tea, a very salty concoction made entirely with milk and a few dusty tea grounds at the bottom.  We had made a lunch stop for Damdensuuren and Miga, who were keen to fill up on a bowl or two of mutton soup; sadly, they obviously did not appreciate our western-style cooking (such that it was) and we soon got used to them making their own arrangements at meal times (usually stopping off at random gers we passed en route to see what was cooking!) while we tucked into bread, cheese and pickles.

Khovsgol Nuur is one of Mongolia’s top scenic attractions; a beautiful alpine lake with clear blue water, so pure you can drink it, surrounded by dozens of snow-capped mountains, thick pine forests and meadows full of grazing yak, sheep and goats.  We had wondered if it would be everything it was cracked up to be from the write-ups in the guidebooks, but we were not in the least bit disappointed.  En route we had passed through some spectacular countryside, including lakes still covered in ice from the winter and, although it was cold, the deep blue sky provided a perfect backdrop to this amazing landscape.  We found a perfect place to pitch our tent right next to the lake among some trees and set about clearing the yak-pats (a daily routine before tent-pitching!).  It was Eric’s 33rd birthday and before long, we had built a campfire and were sitting around it eating the hot dogs that Pippa had managed to keep hidden away since leaving UB.  We sat on the shores of the lake that night, watching the sun set behind the mountains and following the trails of red cloud across the sky.  We were a long, long, way from the life we had known only a few months previously.

The next day, we took horses up into the mountains and looked down on the lake and surrounding countryside while Damdensuuren spent his time hand-making various parts to fix his jeep.  The views of the lake were breathtaking.  There was still a fair amount of snow in parts, but the sun was shining and sky as blue as either of us had ever seen it. 

We took so many wonderful memories with us from our stay at Khovsgol Nuur:  Mongolians who had visited us (not least a wonderful man who spent hours sitting round the fire with us, communicating in sign language and who traded his hand-made pipe in for Eric’s elegant  English version); the scenery; our first invitation into a ger; our first taste of dairy produce, Mongolian style.

Our first time inside a ger was a totally novel experience.  We had been invited in by one of our neighbours half a mile or so “down the road” and got to see at first hand how almost 80% of the population in the country lived.  All gers face south and have brightly-painted wooden doors.  As we entered, we were ushered towards the back of the ger where the most treasured family possessions are kept.  On the back wall was the family altar, with photographs of loved ones and pictures of Buddha on careful display.  There was a large stove in the centre used for both heating and cooking, and beds on either side which, based on the number of people living under one roof in some families, presumably only get used by select individuals!  Pots and pans, as well as churns of fermenting milk, were kept by the door, and brightly coloured lengths of cloth hung across the ceiling for decoration.

We were offered a bowl of Mongolian tea together with some hard, dried cheese and a creamy, buttery mixture that was supposed to be eaten with it.  We were also given our first bowl of yak vodka (apparently a by-product of the fermenting process), which really does taste of vodka (in a strange sort of way) and in well-oiled Mongolian tradition, the snuff bottle was passed around for all to partake.  It was a fun and friendly gathering (westerners are a great source of amusement by all accounts), and we took several photos of the families before we left to send back to them.  Given how few photo opportunities they have, they will always jump at the chance of having their photo taken but are always sadly disappointed to realise the photo doesn’t appear automatically!  Miga assured us the Mongolian post will reach them but who knows. 

We also had our first taste of yak yoghurt; a very drinkable, albeit lumpy liquid which is so fresh it comes complete with yak hairs.  Yum...

We were sad to leave our little haven on the western shore of the lake but our journey had only just begun and we had a lot more ground to cover.