On Saturday I was lucky enough to be able to visit another PCV in a close-by soum and ride horses! It was quite possibly the most fun I have had since coming to Mongolia. Jeff's hashaa family owns a tourist ger camp, and has a lot of horses. They are really nice people, and Jeff's brother, Ganaa, allowed us to accompany him on a trek out to the winter grazing camp. We didn't really know what to expect when we got on the horses, other than that we were going for a ride. Jeff's dad said something about mountains and camping, but we didn't really fully understand what was going on (an extremely common state of affairs for me).
After drinking a glass of very delicious aireg with Jeff's dad, we went out to help Ganaa saddle up the horses. Before we started saddling up, we got to watch them milk the mares. It was an interesting process. They had what looked like yearlings tethered in a line, and one by one they untied them and lead them up to a mare (presumably its mother) and let it nurse for a couple seconds, then pulled it aside and a woman with a bucket then milked the mare. I was amazed how well the horses behaved. They didn't put a halter on the mares or even hold them in any way, but they just stood there. And none of them tried to kick the woman doing the milking. After they had milked all the mares Ganaa started to saddle our horses for us. The horse that he at first identified as the horse I would ride was a small chestnut mare, and when he went to put the saddle on her she actively showed her displeasure at the whole idea by trying to bite him and kicking. Then he got on her really quick, I guess to make sure she wasn't going to kill me, and she started bucking. I guess he then decided the chances were good that she might just kill me, so he quickly changed saddles and put me on a buckskin gelding who was an absolute pleasure.
Once we were all on our horses we set off across the field. We were joined by another guy and four yaks pulling wagons, and Ganaa said we were going "hamt" (together). Once we got out in the field a little ways I started to experiment on my horse. He was really fast, and very excited about the prospect of a good gallop. With just a tiny bit of encouragement he would take off, but he was also really good (for a Mongolian horse) about stopping, basically meaning if I turned him in a circle he would eventually stop. After a bit of gallivanting around the field Ganaa told me to just walk, that we could gallop on the way back. So we continued across the field at a more peaceful pace, following the chain of yak carts. The yaks were slightly less than willing participants in the whole affair, and required quite a bit of yelling, rock throwing and other creative forms of encouragement from Ganaa. Mongolians say "choa" to make horses or yaks move forward, and it is amazing how effective that word is. If my horse even heard someone else say "choa" he immediately reacted by quickening his pace significantly. The yaks weren't quite as responsive, but then they were pulling carts and being dragged forward by the one in front of them by a nose ring. I can't imagine I would be very responsive or eager about that job either. After about two and a half hours we came to the beginning of winter herding camps. We continued back into the mountains, and went through a valley scattered with little wood pole barns and yak and horse herds. That yaks that we were following were beginning to show the strain of the long trip with their increasing unwillingness to more forward at anything more than a snail's pace, so Jeff and I had time to wander up into the mountains and explore a bit. Our horses were also starting to show some weariness though, and my horse was definitely less than enthusiastic about climbing any unnecessary hills, so I eventually fell in line behind the yak train. The mountains we were in were gorgeous. One side of the valley was covered in forest, mostly pines and some birch, and there were wildflowers scattered throughout the grass covering the valley and the mountains on the other side of us. I didn't really know Mongolia could look like that; I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting it to look like when I came here, but I was definitely surprised. It looked like it could have been some of the prettier places in rural America. Unfortunately, I didn't take my camera with my on the ride. An unwise decision I am kicking myself for now.
We continued through the valley until we had surpassed all other signs of human existence. The road (wheel tracks through the grass) we were following started to disappear to just a faint hint that anyone had gone that way before. By that time we had been in the saddle for close to four hours, and I was really starting to feel it. Finally we reached the very end of the valley, where there was a small white tent (not a ger, just a regular tent) in a little clearing. We took a little break and had some water (most definitely unpurified, not sure where it came from and am a little scared about possible later repercussions in the form of giarrdia for drinking it, but I was thirsty) and some bortz (fried dough). The inhabitant of the camp wasn't there at the time, and failed to appear after several shouts from Ganaa, but Jeff, Ganaa and I left the yaks and the other guy out there to wait. The trip that took us four and a half hours out only took about an hour back, because we trotted or galloped the whole way. Mongolian horses do not have the smoothest gaits, in fact I might even go so far as to say they have a downright uncomfortable trot. My horse didn't have nearly as fast of a trot as Jeff or Ganaa's horses, and was definitely not going to be left behind so he usually kept to a gentle canter. This was fine with me, much more comfortable! It was amazing how quickly our horses perked up as soon as we were headed in the direction of home. From the way they were dragging their feet toward the end of the trek out, you would think they didn't have enough energy to even get back, much less canter the whole way. But the lure of home gave them the extra spunk they needed. Once we were out of the smaller valley where the winter camps were, Ganaa decided it was time for a race. So we all lined up and then with a chorus of "choa" took off at a dead gallop. It was amazing. Those horses were some of the most agile creatures I have ever seen. My horse was at a dead gallop going through a minefield of gopher holes, and he didn't once put a foot wrong. I am sure that any American horse would have broken a leg, but my trusty Mongolian steed didn't even trip. He wouldn't even slow down the first time I tried, so I let him gallop for awhile longer. Eventually he was willing to take a breather so we walked for a bit, but as soon as we reached the last field to cross he wanted to canter again.
Once we arrived back to the ger camp we got to help round up the rest of the herd of horses, who were out grazing freely nearby. So we cantered around a bit more and gathered all the horses near the corral. Once we were finished I practically fell of my horse, and my legs and knees were so stiff from the 5+ hours in the saddle I had a bit of trouble walking at first. But I managed to make it to the main building of the camp, where Jeff's hashaa family was hanging out and getting ready to have dinner. We drank some more aireg with his dad, and, though we tried to politely refuse, were fed some of the best hoshor I have ever tasted.
A Very Tired Mongolian Pony
My trip back to Tsetserleg was also quite an adventure. It looked unlikely that I would be able to find a car, because apparently they only go once a day and some days not at all. But I had some good luck and saw a bus stopped at one of the gas stations. I went over and asked if they were going to Tsetserleg, and they said they were so I jumped on. It was a bus full of Mongolians, which I learned were on their way to Kharkorin. They were really nice and friendly, the old man sitting next to me even took a picture with me. He was excited to find that I could speak a little Mongolian, and we had a limited conversation about what I do and how pretty the trees and mountains are in Arkhangai.
The drive between Ikh Tamir and Tsetserleg is beautiful. About half of it is through a valley, where it's mostly an off-road drive. They are working on paving the road, which means that right now it is unusable. So there is about a quarter mile on either side of tire tracks, where people created their own road in an attempt to not get stuck in the mud of previous "roads" and avoid as many bone-jarring bumps as possible. Mongolian drivers are adept at going as fast as possible on the (relatively) flat areas, and then slamming on the brakes to avoid being air born over bumps. At least they manage that the vast majority of the time. In the Russian jeep I took on the way out there were a few times when I was really thankful for the padded roof...
Once you get through the valley there is a very well constructed gravel road that goes up through the mountains. The bus was having a bit of a time of it, but we saw a biking tour at the top of the mountain, and I am quite sure they had a much rougher time of it. It was even snowing on top of the mountain.
Once we came into Tsetserleg the bus stopped by the side of the road for some random reason, and I told the driver that I would get out there and walk the rest of the way home. I asked him how much I should pay, but he just shrugged his shoulders and said "no money." Not only did I have the good luck to find a ride at all, it turned out to be a free one! Mongolia is so amazing that way. Much, if not most, of what happens seems to be determined purely by luck (either good or bad), and you never know when you are going to get completely screwed over or have someone do something incredibly nice for you.
To round out my incredible weekend, an M16 who now works for a tour company texted me on Sunday that he was in Tsetserleg and would I like to meet up for a beer. It turned out that his tour was the group of cyclists I had seen on top of the mountain. They are from the UK, and on an adventure holiday. They have biked here from Erdenet and are going to continue to Kharkorin before returning to UB by car. They turned out to be a really fun group of people to spend the evening with, and it was nice to spend some time with a group of people who speak my language. I could actually understand everything that was being said, and that is not a common thing for me here.
The one thing that put a bit of a damper on my weekend is the fact that I have been without running water for almost two days, so there went my plans for doing laundry on Sunday. Luckily I had stockpiled purified water, a decision brought on by frequent random power outages, so was able to wash my hair. Such is life in Mongolia I guess.
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