The real nomads

by Emma Bourke (Australia)

I didn't expect to find Mongolia

I long dreamed of the wild and rugged countryside of Mongolia, growing up riding horses I was always drawn to the ‘land of the horse’. What I didn’t expect is that I would fall in love. I fell in love with the kind and generous spirit of the people, the sturdy and reliable nature of the horses, the harsh yet stunningly beautiful land, and above all - the simple life. Nomadic families are not worried about how others perceive them, they don’t lust after the latest technology, are not consumed by social media. Their life is shared with family and loved ones. They concern themselves with caring for their animals, who in turn look after them, completely self sustaining and at one with nature. There is a real honesty and beauty in this uncomplicated living. I travelled to the town of Tsetserleg and met with two guides, neither of whom spoke English. Our journey began at a family ‘ger', the round tents nomads live in that are constantly moved around depending on weather and available grazing land. Entering my first ger I warily moved past a half skinned horse head towards two women preparing food, one making khuushuur (a meat pastry) while the other stirred milk bubbling on the stove. They offered what I would come to know as the usual greeting, suutei tsai (a hot drink of water, milk, tea and salt) accompanied with cheese or curd served with bread. All the food is handmade, dinner often meat and noodle soup, breakfast rice milk porridge or what I decided was ‘Mongolian fairy bread’ – bread with a bowl of soft dairy and sugar spooned on top. They use every part of the animal and nothing is wasted, even the bones are used in soups and the organs eaten. The air was crisp and the sun shining, I couldn’t wait to get in the saddle. The horses were smaller than I expected, but defiantly strong and sturdy. They survive freezing winters with no rugs and forage for food, trek every type of terrain without shoes, and are often ridden for eight hours a day. I quickly learned the most important word – “tchoo” - which means GO! and is taken seriously by the horses. Strangely there is no word for stop, or if there is noone told me! I helped (at times hindered) herd the family’s horses, cattle and yaks to a new location. It was amazing to see the communication between the Mongols and animals purely by voice. I loved seeing animals roaming freely in their natural herds, no fences in sight. At the end of the day they constructed their ger in it’s new location, and sure enough overnight it snowed heavily, the reason for the change. I woke to a bright blue sky, the guides smeared animal fat over their boots and we set off. Two dogs accompanied us everywhere frolicking through the snow and stopping for a brief play (or mating session!) with dogs along the way. It was pure magic riding through silent mountains, only the sound of snow crunching under the horses hooves as the sun warmed my face. The next ger I affectionately referred to as ‘grandma’s’, a lovely woman extremely house proud with a beautifully presented ger, everything in it’s place and perfectly clean. At night as we laid on the floor she tucked us in with extra horse blankets, making sure we would be warm for the night. In the morning we headed off with the horses in high spirits and full of energy, happy not to have to plough their way through deep snow. The ground was dry enough to take our horses for a gallop with gleeful cries of “tchoo! tchoo!” We flew across expanses of grassland flanked by mountains with pine trees and rocky outcrops circled by eagles. A sense of sadness washed over me, I would miss my pocket rocket pony and the friendly faces of the nomads. Inside the last ger I was given tea and food as well as “snuff”, ground tobacco leaves to sniff. The man next to me began to sing and my heart swelled with gratitude, Mongolia had been everything I had dreamt of and more.