Budee invites us to join him for a trip to the countryside tomorrow, to see some of his relatives. By countryside, he actually means a lonely yurt in the middle of the steppe.
Finding way in the steppe
We stay one more night in Budee’s cozy Czech-style cabin in the suburbs - and spend some 3 hours in traffic getting there and back by bus. We knew it would take this much time, but it’s still kind of surprising. The next morning, we meet Budee and his wife downtown. They take us to their fancy flat and we load Budee’s car with a big tent and a plenty of supplies including a lot of water. We buy some more groceries on the way. Budee’s wife tells us that she will cook a Czech potato soup tonight. She worked in Czechia as a cook for some time and still knows several words in Czech.
The home of Budee’s relatives is not so far from Ulaanbaatar, but a
considerable share of the way is off-road. While we were hitchhiking, many
times we saw people suddenly leaving the road and turning into the steppe, or
cars popping up out of nowhere and joining the road. I was always wondering how
they actually knew where to go, so I hope I will finally discover their
secret. I’m watching the road and Budee carefully. He doesn’t even use GPS
navigation. Suddenly, in the middle of a very long stretch of the road going through
the steppe, at a place no different from the rest of the road, he just turns
left and keeps going.
He doesn’t even slow down much. As the off-roader is shaking and
bouncing on the turfs of thick grass, the speedometer is showing 80 km/h. Soon, we
can’t see the road behind us anymore, and I’m not even sure what way it is. All
around us from one horizon to the other, there is nothing but a completely flat
steppe. There is not a single point one could use for orientation. It makes me
feels a little bit anxious: if we were on our own and had to find the way
ourselves, we would probably just be lost forever. After several dozen minutes,
at a place that looks the very same as the rest of the steppe, Budee turns
right. A bit later, he says there should be a settlement near here. And indeed:
soon, we can see some yurts and horses in the distance. We drive past and
continue.
We are wondering what the horses actually drink here. Budee says there
is a well nearby: that’s why people stay in this valley. The field doesn’t look
like a valley at all, I can’t see any people and I keep wondering how on Earth
they can find the well.
We drive past an isolated yurt – Budee knows it isn’t the yurt we are
looking for – and find a different isolated yurt a bit further that looks the
very same, with a herd of horses nearby. That’s apparently the place we are
going to.
Ayrag time
The people from the yurt come to say hi and invite us in. If I understand it right, they are relatives of Budee’s wife. They wear the nice traditional Mongolian coats I always like to look at.
Living in a yurt has special rules. If you get in, want to change your place, or leave, you must always go clockwise, no matter how far from the door you are. It has a religious meaning but it’s also convenient unless you want to bump into people all the time. Also, you must never pass between the two central poles. I suppose that has a religious meaning too.
As soon as we are seated, we get a cup of fresh ayrag, a fermented horse milk. It is a bit saltier than kumys, the fermented horse milk we tried in Kyrgyzstan. Vojta has been in Mongolia before and says that it sometimes makes Europeans sick as our stomachs are not ready for it. I am allergic to cow milk, but I’m obviously not tested for horse milk - so I decide I’m certainly not allergic to it. At least not today.
It’s early fall, which means ayrag season. You can’t have ayrag any time you want. Milking mares is more difficult than milking cows as it can be only done when they have foals, rather than every day almost all the time. Foals are born in a specific period of the year, which means ayrag can only be made in a specific season. So, it’s a serious business. A large plastic barrel with fermenting milk is placed next to the door, and adults as well as children take turns at checking and mixing it. Budee says it is so nutritious that in ayrag season people often eat nothing else.
He introduces us to his relatives and his relatives to us and I am not able to remember any single name. We also are offered a small bottle of snuff by someone. Vojta says that this is a custom – when people (or just men, actually) greet each other, they exchange their snuff bottles out of politeness. The richer you want to look, the fancier bottle you have. We at least smell the bottle we get very politely and pass it back.
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| Bottle with snuff |
Everybody speak Mongolian, so I sit and enjoy ayrag and look around the yurt – or actually the ger because that’s what these homes are called in Mongolia. It seems a bit lower and larger than the Kyrgyz yurts, and the roof structure has a different crown in the middle. No wonder: the crown of the Kyrgyz yurt is depicted on the Kyrgyz flag, so it probably is specific and different from the crowns of other nomadic nations. The ger is surprisingly spacious. Along the walls, there are not only beds, but also some colored cupboards. On the opposite of the door, there is a colorful, shiny altar whose symbolism I don’t understand at all, as usual. In the central part (not between the poles of the ger, though), a lady younger than us is preparing meat near a portable oven that runs on horse shit. I know horse herders don’t stay at one spot all year, so I’m wondering whether they can load their entire house on a single truck… and how they decide where to put the ger up. I don’t want to disturb the conversation, so my questions remain unanswered for the time being.
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| Crown of the ger |
Later, the people from the city get up: they are going for a visit and we are going with them. I’m wondering where, but we get into the car and Budee sets off through the steppe again. The drive is not very long: we are going to that ger on the horizon we passed by in the morning.
The same rituals follow as before and we get more ayrag. There is a bit of alcohol in it and I can already feel it. But it’s still tasty. The family is preparing small sweets that look like Christmas candies. They are made of horse milk too.
When we get back to the first family, our friend the cook starts preparing the potato soup she talked about in the morning. Soon, it’s ready: there is a lot of meat, tasty small potatoes, pickled onions, some green spices and not much water. It’s very tasty, though. It’s actually the tastiest meal I’ve had in Mongolia so far. Also, I’m very honored: it seems she only made this meal for us because she knows Czech people eat a lot of potatoes. Everybody else is on the usual diet: a lot of fat meat with nothing else.
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| Czech potato soup Mongolian style |
Stuck in the middle of nowhere
Budee is expecting a friend with another off-roader to come and join us. He’s late – Budee says he doesn’t know the way so well. I’m wondering what that means if a Mongolian person says that. Maybe he just needs to use a GPS like any ordinary people… There of course is no telephone network here. The yurt just has a satellite phone – in order to call a doctor, for instance. But Budee’s friend probably doesn’t have any network either.
From time to time, Budee gets out of the yurt and is staring at the horizon. (It’s not so hard as there is nothing but horizon anywhere near.) Then, he tells us his friend is stuck in the mud with his car. I don’t know if his friend finally reached him by phone somehow, or if it’s just his logical conclusion. He jumps in his car and drives into the emptiness to look for his friend. After a short while, he comes back. He obviously didn’t find anybody. “He’s lost, never mind,” he shrugs his shoulders. “It’s not cold, we’ll find him tomorrow.”
At first, it feels a bit cruel. Then I realize we are in a country where temperatures drop below -30°C in winter. Compared to that, staying outside on a mild summer night is not dangerous. When the night falls, we put up a big camping tent next to the yurt.
“You don’t want to stay in the yurt, our relatives snore too bad!” Budee informs us.
We go to sleep quite early while our hosts are having a party inside. Seeing the stars is always special in Mongolia as the sky is so big, but this time it’s even more special than usually. The sky is completely clear and there is nothing at all that could block my view. I’ve never seen this many stars before.
We go to sleep quite early while our hosts are having a party inside. Seeing the stars is always special in Mongolia as the sky is so big, but this time it’s even more special than usually. The sky is completely clear and there is nothing at all that could block my view. I’ve never seen this many stars before.
In the morning, Budee’s relatives milk horses. It’s a complicated procedure. One person must hold the mare. Another person brings the foal near the mare – the mare wouldn’t let any milk without the foal by her side. They don’t let the foal drink yet, though. The first person milks the mare while the foal is still near her. They need to milk the mare just a bit, so that there still is milk left. Eventually they release the foal to feed. This must happen several times a day. The horse herd is pretty big, so it probably is a lot of work.
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| Milking horses |
I now have an occasion to ask my questions about life in winter: Budee says the yurt gets an extra insulation layer. Horse herders have a summer home and a winter home and before winter they move to the warmer place. During cold months, horses stay in wooden stables. In spring, the family bring their yurt to the original summer place: they always put it on the same spot (and obviously can somehow remember where it was and how to find it).
We say goodbye to our hosts. Time has come to go back to the city – and to look for Budee’s friend who is still stuck somewhere in the wasteland.
Budee finds him surprisingly easily. At some point somewhere in the steppe, we can see a lonely car in the distance. When we come closer, we can see the car is stuck up to its chassis in mud – that’s interesting, as there is no other mud anywhere in the steppe. Budee’s friend, his driver (a Buddhist lama) and another lama look surprisingly happy for people who have just spent a night stuck in the desert.
It seems they tried absolutely everything they could to get their car out: there are some flat stones, pieces of wood, some debris, and a carpet placed under the wheels of the car. I have no idea where they found all that.
The drivers tie a towrope to our car and the stuck off-roader, and Budee tries to pull it out. The motor is roaring, Budee’s car is jumping, but nothing else happens. The towrope eventually breaks and the car is still stuck.
The drivers decide we need to put more debris under the wheels. When we stare into the desert long enough, we notice a small structure in the distance, probably a shack. I have no idea how it got there, but it probably is the place where all the pieces of wood come from.
We start walking to the shack while the others tie the broken rope together, but suddenly two more cars appear on the horizon – they are going our way. Today seems to be a day of wonders. I don’t dare guessing anymore if it’s luck or if this is just the way Mongolia works. Some guys with Arafat scarves and long dresses jump out of the cars. Vojta says they must come from the camp we saw yesterday – they hunt here for prey birds to sell them in Arab Emirates. I’m not asking any questions anymore. The guys attach their own towropes to the car in the mud and both of their cars, and Budee joins with his repaired rope.
Another person arrives – a shepherd on a motorbike. The idea of four different groups of people meeting in the desert at random seems surreal. This part of nowhere must be some kind of highway, even though it doesn’t look like one at all. The shepherd is looking at us for a while, then he probably realizes he would be of no help and drives on.
The Arabs and Budee finally manage to pull the off-roader out of the puddle. This obviously is an occasion for celebration, so Budee and his friend open vodka and ayrag and share it with everybody willing to drink. The Arabs continue wherever they are going and our new group of two cars heads towards the civilization. On the way, we stop once more in the steppe for some vodka and ayrag. This time it’s to celebrate life, I guess.
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| You must not go through the poles |
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| An altar. The remote control is not a part of it, I guess |
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| There is no firewood, but there still is horse poo |
