To the Reindeer!

On the morning of May 5, as we prepared to leave Ulanbataar for our tour of central and northern Mongolia, it snowed in the capital.

Sarah, Kathryn, Ben and I met our guide Vampi and our driver Tall Baata and our old Russian 4WD van Lumpy (my name for it) packed up our stuff and hit the road.

I won't go through every detail about the trip, because it really was more about the journey as a whole than specific details. Several of the sights we stopped at were really only moderately interesting, and were more significant in the way that they gave us a route to follow while cruising around the huge countryside of Mongolia.

The days on tour typically went something like this:
1. Wake up, often to the wood stove in our ger being thoughtfully re-lighted by one of our hosts.  Even though it was early to mid May, it still got cooooolld in northern Mongolia.  Even with our own warm sleeping bags and the ones provided with the tour it could still be pretty chilly in a ger after the fire had gone out.

2. Breakfast prepared by Vampi. Usually my favourite meal of the day as it often included fresh fruit. We started making toast by laying slices of bread directly on the top of the iron wood stoves.

3. Pack up Lumpy and go for a drive. Driving was a big part of the trip. Sometimes (rarely) it was on nice paved roads. Beyond that it was quite variable. Sometimes it was a few sets of mostly flat parallel tire tracks running through the grassland. Sometimes it was well and truly off road, juddering along the grassland, fording rivers wherever looked good, bouncing up and down with the rarer punctuation of a real earth shattering bump.
But driving was one of the highlights of the trip.  Though not much of the scenery was obviously spectacular, driving through it allowed you to see just how big everything in Mongolia is. We'd crest a broad, grassy hill to see a 15km wide green-brown valley dotted with livestock. Then climb up the far side and see another one. And another one. And another one. The land and the skies were huge and they just went on and on and on.

3. Stop somewhere (town, village, tiny guesthouse in the middle of nowhere) for lunch.  Lunch was hit and miss. Typical Mongolian restaurant food, which, as observed last entry means heavy on the starch, meat and salt. Vegetables usually limited to potatoes, cabbage and carrots. Though they usually managed to produce something vaguely vegetarian for Sarah (though often with a few stray bits of meat thrown in too.) I eventually took to just ordering whatever Vampi did, which seemed to work pretty well. Though the fact that I had a stuffy nose for the first week or so made the food seem even blander than it already was, which made it tough to swallow sometimes.

4. Stop and visit a sight of some sort. Climb up a volcanic cone. A monastery rebuilding itself after being purged almost out of existence during the communist era. Mongolia's largest lake by volume (kind of a scaled down Baikal). These sorts of things.

5. Arrive at accommodation for the night. This could take one of a few forms: Formal guesthouses (usually the fanciest facilities, but often a bit weird, featuring ceramic Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, or WiFi but pit squat toilets only.
Formal ger camps. Maybe not quite as fancy as the guesthouses, but if there's one thing the Mongols know it's how to make a ger, so these were usually pretty comfortable.
Spare space in a nomad family's ger.  These were the best. Come on in to meet the family and have a cup of milk tea (some kind of mammal milk (cow, goat, yak), hot water, salt and tea leaves). Be offered a snack too (fried bread, dried yogurt, clotted cream). With Vampi's help, ask a bit about the family and their life/and animals and answer questions about ourselves and our homes.  Be shown to a spare ger and usually have the fire built up til it's sweltering and you have to go outside or open the door for a while. While pretty much all of these families counted on tourism for some of their livelihood, they were also all genuinely nomadic and focussed primarily on taking care of their livestock. We'd have more interaction with them than at the formal accommodation, and usually left gifts of things like instant coffee, soap, superglue, razors, biscuits, etc.

6. Dinner prepared by Vampi.  I must say, her cooking skills were pretty impressive. Twelve dinners and not one repeat.  Though the aforementioned cold and the limitations of common Mongolian ingredients did mean that I still did struggle through a few meals.

7. Bedtime.

Sometimes the order of the steps could be shuffled around a bit. And there was usually a fair bit of time for resting (laying in the ger trying to recover from my cold, which really was quite a nasty one), reading, going for short walks or visiting whatever sort of livestock our hosts might have.

So that was the general flow of the tour.  I will, however give a bit more detail about the fifth through eighth days of the trip, because they were:
A. A bit different.
B. Really really cool and
C. What gives this post its title

Day 5 was a looong day of almost entirely off road driving, which was almost entirely bumpy.  We arrived at a collection of gers where we'd be spending the night.

Next day we were introduced to the horses that we'd be riding. The fact that we did this is something of a surprise, given that I hadn't ridden a horse in something like thirty years, and that Sarah actively dislikes them (to the point of calling members of the species "stupids" instead of horses).  But with a bit of help we climbed up and soon after were off.

As the least confident rider, Sarah was given the slowest horse. Mongols have a weird practice of purposely mis-describing their horses so that evil spirits listening over their shoulders will get confused. So it was appropriate that she named it Speedy (though not appropriate that she named it at all, since Mongolians don't name their animals.)

Meanwhile I christened my horse Mr. Fatty Pants, as he seemed to stop for a snack every chance he got. But incongruously, also wanted to be the first horse in line, such that he'd speed up whenever any other tried to overtake him. It's a good thing he was good at eating while on the move.

The trail we were following would probably have been passable for a motorbike, but weaved in and out of forest too much and was too muddy for lumpy to have made it.  After two hours of this we crested a broad saddle our destination came into view.

There was no mistaking it. Three teepees on the edge of the forest surrounded by perhaps eighty sturdy, fuzzy reindeer.

On arrival we were welcomed into the main family teepee and fed lightly sweet fried bread and milk tea (made, of course, with reindeer milk!)

Like most rural Mongolians, the Dukha people herd animals. But instead of the usual cows, goats, sheep or yaks, they herd reindeer. The extended family we were staying with had nine members (four adults, three older children and two young kids) as well as about 200 reindeer.  Over the years the attractiveness of life in the city had thinned their numbers, so that only about 300 remain. However there is some hope for the future of the lifestyle, between the income boost provided by visiting tourists (at one point during our stay there were as many tourists as family members at the camp) and the fact that the government provided some of the luxuries of the city (satellite dishes, TVs, solar panels, electric lights).

I spent much of the time in the teepee, laying down and resting, as my cold was almost at its worst while we were there. This wasn't helped by the poor drafty teepee which, unlike the gers, didn't have beds.  The Dukha live in teepees (very similar to the ones used by North American plains Indians), as they move even more frequently than most Mongolian nomads, and teepees are quicker to erect and take down.

We were visiting right at the end of the winter, while the reindeer herders were as far south as they ever came, waiting for the last few babies before they headed north to spring quarters. While we were there Sarah saw a baby being born, helped along the way by the dad of the house, who had also helped at the birth of two of his four children, who had been born out in the forest.

Twice each day the reindeer would be sent out to graze and then return to feed their young and to have a rest.  The sight and sound of the herd leaving or returning was very impressive.  Indeed, the sound of reindeer was just generally interesting. The adults sounded kind of like a cross between a pig and a goose, while the babies sounded like nothing more than large croaking frogs.

Before leaving we even got to ride a reindeer. I was worried I'd be too heavy for them, but was assured that it wouldn't be a problem and that people almost as big as me rode them for hours when moving or when going out to round up the herd.

It felt a bit more precarious than riding a horse, but I managed the 200m or so loop without falling off.

After two days with the reindeer people, it was time to return. Mr. Fatty Pants made it a quick trip, as Ben and Kathryn wanted to speed up to a fast trot for much of the trip, and MFP insisted on keeping up with them, whatever I (and after a bit more trotting, my sore bum) thought of the matter.

Back at the "horse camp" as we called it, I had yet more rest, but thankfully seemed to be turning the corner on my cold.  Which was good, as we were barely halfway through our trip!